#but his first moments of life being spent having to bust his way out of a fucking WHALE could NOT have helped

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Believe in Me — jh86

summary: in which the summer following Jack’s rookie year is coming to an end. Not only did his rookie year come with being shafted by the league as the biggest bust, but he managed to get painted as the biggest (and newest) playboy of the league. His personal management team, the team’s management, and PR step in to clear this all up, but it takes work from Jack.

warnings/points of importance: use of y/n, fem!reader x jack, use of nicknames for female character and for Jack, fake dating trope, oblivious pining trope(?), childhood friends, minor usage of foul language, creation of side original characters for plot, time jumps, memories inserted - tumblr’s intention and italics used to notate, inner thoughts marked with ‘..’ and italicized if they occur

word count: 4.32

notes: any names used for original characters that relate to someone’s name or closely relate to a person’s name is purely by happenstance. The names were rolled by random from a generator where I inserted random first and last names.

© property of quinnylouhughesx43 ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the worn wooden planks of the back porch swing, her eyes following the lazy dance of the sunset as it descended behind the distant tree line. Her childhood home had changed so little over the years, the same comforting embrace of familiarity wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a chilly evening. The porch swing squeaked in a soothing rhythm as both her and Jack slowly swung, a nostalgic tune that had serenaded countless summer nights spent sharing secrets and laughter with Jack. The only other kid who had been in her grade when she moved in, well really one of the only other neighborhood children. The other two children in the neighborhood were his brothers. All three of which had become as much a part of her life as the very foundation of the house she grew up in.

She had spent all day out with his family by the pool, her mother insisted he come to their house for dinner though. Nothing to offer course for their life, well a year ago it wouldn’t have been.

"Do you want to talk about your new headline?" Y/n tried to hold back the hint of amusement in her tone but failed miserably. Jack's rookie season had just come to an end before the beginning of summer. In just a few months he had gone from the talk of the league as the number one draft pick to talk of the league as a "bust."

He was nothing close to a bust. It was just how the year fell.

Jack leaned back in the swing, the sun's final strokes of light for the day painting his cheekbones. He sighed; a heavy exhale filled with the weight of the rumors that had been following him like a dark shadow. "It's just how it's going to be now. You know how it is with the media. They're desperate to find a new angle to keep me going." There were a few moments of silence shared between them before he found the words to continue. "First, it's all about my game, how I'm not scoring enough or I'm not this hotshot star that every analyst built me up to be. Season ends and it's about my supposed love life." His voice was a mix of annoyance and defeat. He was used to being the center of attention, truthfully he strived to be in the center of attention. He just wasn't used to it always being negative attention.

"To be it all, I have this video chat meeting with public relations, franchise management, and my management team about some idea they have come up with to help bring attention away from everything." Jack groaned. "We have three days left of the summer before we drive back to Jersey, I don't want to spend one of them in meetings."

Y/n nodded sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his forearm and leaning herself over on him. "It's okay, bubs. Maybe it's nothing too serious." But she could tell from the furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched and the tension in his voice that he was already aware of what they had come up with. Or at least he had an idea. She didn't dare pry, they may be best friends, but Jack was clearly not ready to share his thoughts. "And... If it is serious I will be in Jersey this season to help you through it."

Jack gave her a grateful smile before standing up from the porch swing, stretching his arms out wide. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't worry about it tonight." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a gesture that was as commonplace as breathing between the two of them. "Thanks for the pep talk, toots." He said, using the childhood nickname that never failed to make her smile despite the circumstances. "I should head back down the street to my parent's place. It's getting late."

As he turned to leave, the rising moon cast a cool glow over the yard, highlighting the tall blades of grass that danced with the intermittent breeze. Y/n watched him go, her mind racing with the implications of what might happen at that during his meeting tomorrow. Would they really suggest something so ridiculous? And if they did, how would Jack handle it?

Jack's footsteps grew fainter until they were swallowed by the night. The house, once alive with the echoes of their laughter, now felt eerily quiet. Y/n remained seated out on the swing, her thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt and concern. She knew Jack was strong, capable of taking on any challenge thrown his way, but the thought of him being manipulated into some scheme to save the face of the Devils franchise made her sick. Then she thought, what if they didn't call a meeting to manipulate him into anything? What if it's simply to offer suggestions on what he can do differently going forward?

Y/n eventually shut that portion of her brain off and headed inside herself. A long hot shower and her bed was calling her name.

The next day Jack sat in his father's home office, the room smelling faintly of cologne and leather, waiting for the others to join the video call. The space was a testament to his father's success, filled with trophies and framed newspaper articles from his own days as a star player and coach. It was both inspiring and daunting, a constant reminder of the legacy he and his brothers were trying to live up to. The computer screen flickered to life, displaying a Zoom call with a row of faces, some familiar, some not. His management team, PR reps, and a couple of team officials stared back at him, all expectant and poised.

Jack leaned back in the chair, his casual attire feeling woefully inadequate among the suits and professional backgrounds of his callers. He had taken his mother's advice and dressed comfortably, but now he wished he had at least put on a button-up shirt. He glanced down at his New Jersey Devils t-shirt, the logo stretched slightly across his chest. It was a fan favorite, one that had been thrown at him in excitement by a young fan at a game. It felt like a piece of armor, a symbol of his pride and commitment to the team, but today it just made him feel like he was the kid, and he was playing dress-up in his dad's old gear.

The meeting began with a round of forced smiles and awkward greetings. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/n's words from the night before echoed in his mind, a comforting whisper amidst the storm of uncertainty. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whoever their absurd suggestion be his girlfriend when they had conjured up the fake relationship idea to "fix" his image.

"Jack, before we start, do you remember the guidelines I told you for this relationship or should we go over them again with everyone here?" The voice was cold and calculated, belonging to one of the stern-faced PR reps. Her eyes bore into him through the screen, demanding his full attention.

Jack's stomach lurched. He had hoped they would just come right out with what was new, news. "I think everyone is aware of what we're trying to achieve here, but please go ahead," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The stern-faced public relations rep, Ms. Castellanos, nodded curtly. "Good. So, the first guideline is that you two must be seen together at least three times a week. This includes public appearances such as dates, her being seen attending your games, and even casual outings like grocery shopping or walking the dog. That is if you or her have one."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, glancing down at his half empty coffee mug. He didn't have a dog, but he still didn't know who this girl they paired him up with was. Plus, he didn't know if Y/n had picked up any new hobbies involving pets in her last year of college. It was never mentioned during their weekly calls or on visits. It would be important to know that since she’s going to be living with him.

"Jack, are you listening?" The voice brought him back to the present, the sternness of Ms. Castellanos' tone was unmistakable.

Jack swallowed down the anxiety that was bubbling up inside him and nodded in acknowledgement.

Ms. Castellanos continued, "Guideline two, and perhaps the most important one, is that the relationship must appear genuine. You must exhibit believable public affection and body language. This means holding hands, occasional kisses on the cheek, maybe a few on the lips if the situation calls for it. As for body language," the stone-cold lady stopped speaking, watching Jack carefully once more. "You're both young, attractive, and in the public eye. If you lean into each other, have your arms around each other's waist, or even occasionally rest your head on her shoulder, it'll look natural and convincing. The media will eat it up, and your image will be transformed from a lonely heartthrob to a lovestruck boyfriend in no time."

Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly, the thought of faking intimacy with someone he'd never met before was nerve-wracking, to say the least. He took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee, trying to imagine how awkward the first kiss would be. He had never been one for faking emotions, especially something as intimate as love.

Ms. Castellanos continued, her voice unforgiving. "Guideline four is critical. The relationship must end with your girlfriend, and I stress this, must be the one to initiate the breakup. It should be done publicly and dramatically enough to make headlines, but not so much that it causes a scandal." She paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. "You cannot under any circumstances leave her. If it looks like you're the one who ended things, it'll only add fuel to the fire of your reputation. You need to be seen as the heartbroken party, the victim of a fickle heart. It'll humanize you, make you more relatable to the fans."

Jack felt his jaw clench at the coldness of the plan. He had agreed to a fake relationship to get the media off his back, but this was starting to feel like a script for a reality TV show gone wrong. "And what happens if we... I mean, if she gets tired of the whole thing?" He stumbled over his words, trying to maintain some semblance of respect for the stranger he was about to be romantically linked with.

"Ah, that's where guideline five comes into play," said Ms. Castellanos, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of her own cleverness. "We've prepared a non-disclosure agreement that she will be signing before the relationship begins. It's quite comprehensive and includes clauses for breaking it off in a controlled manner. She'll understand her role in this, Jack."

Jack's grip tightened around his coffee mug, the cheap porcelain feeling fragile under his thumb. "But who is she?" he repeated, his voice a little louder, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Ms. Castellanos' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Her name is Elena Petrov," she said smoothly. "A local influencer with a clean reputation. She's been briefed on the situation and has agreed to help. She's a fan of the team and understands the importance of this for your career."

"No." Jack huffed out. gaining the attention of everyone on the call. Just the same as Jack, everyone else barely stayed tuned into her annoying voice. "She is the reason I am in this shit hole. Her friend is the last girl I was with. Elena took all the pictures. Maggie? A little help here." Jack pleaded with the IT media girl that for some miraculous reason was sitting in on the call.

"Oh. Uhm, yes. It took me days to get the pictures she put up taken down. And Mr. Hughes, we were able to prove they were edited after looking closer at them," Maggie spoke up, her voice shaky, probably from fear of interrupting the woman that could potentially ruin their lives with a tweet.

Ms. Castellanos' eyes darted from Jack to Maggie and back again, her displeasure clear. "Jack, this is non-negotiable. This is what's best for your career right now. You need to be seen as more than just a party boy. The sooner you start this relationship with Elena, the sooner we can start repairing your image," she said, her voice like a whip cracking through the tension in the room.

Jack's manager, Mr. Taylor, cleared his throat before speaking up, his tone measured and calm. "Perhaps there's another option we haven't considered. What about Y/n?" he suggested, glancing at Jack, who looked up at him, hope flickering in his eyes.

Ms. Castellanos raised an eyebrow. "Your childhood friend?" She sounded skeptical, but the video stream grew quiet, all eyes on Jack.

Jack nodded, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. "Yeah, Y/n. We've been best friends since middle school. Everyone already thinks we're together. It'll be believable, and she's... she's not in the spotlight like Elena is. It'll keep things more low-key." He swallowed, hoping he wasn't about to ruin their friendship.

Ms. Castellanos leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Very well, Jack. We'll consider it. But you need to talk to her and make sure she's on board with this. The last thing we need is for her to spill the beans and ruin the whole charade."

Jack nodded, his heart racing. He knew Y/n would do anything for him but asking her to be his fake girlfriend was a big ask. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have. After the call ended, he let out a guttural groan due to frustration. He needed to go shoot some basketball or pucks before he talked Y/n, but he didn't have that time to waste. Instead of blowing off some of his stress he slipped on some shoes, kissed his momma goodbye, and headed out to the house he has visited time and time again.

The warm afternoon air was a major contrast to the coldness of the conversation he had just had. The streetlights flickered to life as Jack approached Y/n's house, the familiar path to her door as comforting as ever. He stopped in front of the door, the color of her door had changed since last summer, but the memories that lie behind it remained the same.

Jack took a deep breath before raising his hand to knock, the sound echoing through his head. Only thing on his mind was the conversation they were about to have. Jack flinched as he realized how hard and urgent he had beat on her mother’s front door. His heart thudded against his chest, partially with the anticipation of her reaction to the proposal and because of how quickly he had walked down the block. Jack took a deep breath in an urgent need to calm himself and appear as normal as possible before he was face to face with her.

Before he could finish his internal mantra of calming himself, the front door swung open in a rush. He was slightly hoping it would somehow be one of her relatives, but there she was, looking up at him with her soft, hopeful eyes. Her hair messily tossed into a messy bun atop her head and a sprinkle of fresh freckles danced across her nose from spending the day in the sun with his family yesterday. She was wearing the momentous hoodie that he had gifted her before leaving last summer. A hoodie that held a lot in its threads for the two of them. For her, it now held a lot of silent screams and wiped away tears from the last year, but it still held their joint memories.

‘It originally had become Jack’s superstitious hoodie for a while. The lucky hoodie he would wear all the way up to when he would change for warm ups, then she would wear it. This superstition developed during the years of world juniors. The year he brought home the Gold, the superstition shifted. Jack had a “girlfriend” that entire season and she wasn’t fond of the idea of Jack and Y/n swapping clothes like they did. The games with the development program were when she noticed this happening. She confronted Y/n about having a useless crush on her boyfriend and she would be taking over wearing his hoodie from then on. Jack didn’t take lightly to it, that was his best friend, his biggest non-family supporter. So, he decided y/n would wear the hoodie the entire time, from the time they all got dressed for the day to after the game. Now, it’s hers entirely, his decision since he couldn’t be here for her and live out his dream. He wanted her to have a piece of him, but if be a piece of them. Once again, it has become her comfort item as it has been back then.’

She fiddled with the stretched out sleeves hanging over left hand anxiously as her right hand was still grasping the door knob.

"How was your meeting?" The words fell from her lips so fast she hadn't taken a moment to invite him inside. Y/n had sat out on the porch swing all morning waiting to hear from him. Seeing him now ignited her anxiety and her need to know.

Jack let out a simple laugh at her eagerness to know. He softly touched her side, giving a slight nudge as if to signal her to walk backwards into the house.

The coolness of the air conditioning kissing his skin. "It was... interesting," he said, his voice a mix of relief and dread.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She walked a few steps backwards with his guidance to allow him in, the old floorboards creaking under their weight. "Interesting as in good or interesting bad?"

Jack shrugged, his smile wavering as he let go of her and made his way into the living room. The same room where they had spent hours playing video games, watching movies, doing homework.

—Could he ask her to do this? What if it blows up in their faces and ruins everything. What if he ruins her? He’d never be able to live with himself for hurting her.

The couch looked inviting, but he knew better than to sit down without spilling his guts. "Well, it’s one of those ‘depends on how you take it’ interesting type situations..." he trailed off, his eyes wandering around the room.

Y/n looked at him, her eyebrows rising in a questioning manner. Her eyes were filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. She could read the hesitancy written all across him. Starting with wanting to open up about his meeting. Which is something he's never had an issue with, at least with her, to not wanting to sit down. Almost as if, if he got too comfortable he would tell too much.

Taking a hold of his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm she leaned her head on his upper arm. A common gesture between them. “Jackers?” She whispered so softly, he nearly missed it. He hummed in response coming out from where he drifted off too. She took a hold of his hand and softly pulled him down to take a seat on the couch with her.

“Jackers, just tell me. Did they come up with something ridiculous?"

Jack let out a small laugh , the sound hollow and forced. "Ridiculous doesn't even begin to cover it," he whined, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "They want me to start a fake relationship with someone who I know is not going to help me. Then my manager suggested someone who would be great and I was for it because we already know each other but.." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction.

Y/n let go of his hand, in an unnatural reaction as they have been platonically physical since high school, "A fake relationship?" she echoed that one snippet. “With.. With who? Since I’ll be living with you I should be prepared for a new girl even if she is a fake girlfriend.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes filled with a desperation she had never seen before. "Toots, I really don't know what to do about this. PR decided on Elena Petrov. B—”

“You mean the friend of the bitch who started this mess? No I’m sorry the two who started this mess? You’re going to pounce around all lovey with the girl who put you here?!” Y/n’s chest heaved up and down heavily. She watched Jack’s face twist in annoyance then soften.

“If you had let me finish… I flat out said no. I will not and am not going to do this plan with her. When I told everyone on the call right then that I wouldn’t, my manager suggested someone else. But I don’t know if they’ll do it. They seem pretty disappointed in me…” Jack kept his voice even and didn’t raise it. He knew how you felt about being yelled at and he couldn’t be the one to cause a panic attack because he got a little upset.

“Well, who did they suggest? Maybe I can help. As long as it’s not Elena..”

“They suggested you. They asked me if I thought you would do it or if I would like you to do it with me. But if you're upset or disappointed, I'll tell them no right now," Jack explained, his voice a low rumble of uncertainty. He started fishing his phone out of his pocket in case he had to call his manager.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as a knot formed, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She had always been there for Jack, and he for her, but this was something entirely different. This was a line they hadn’t truly crossed, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to pretend to cross it again. "Jack, I..." she murmured looking down at her hands in her lap, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Jack's head snapped to look at her, his eyes failing to meet hers as she’s staring down, though a spark of hope igniting within him still. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unspoken emotions. "Yeah, I'll do it," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "For you, I'll do it."

Jack's shoulders slumped with relief. He reached out to lift her head hesitantly so that he could meet her eyes with his. His eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, management can figure it out.”

Y/n forced a smile and nodding her head yes, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and dread. The thrill of being able to go and do things with Jack was nice, but the dread of being scrutinized by females she didn’t know was already gnawing at her. "Besides, it's only for a couple of months, right?"

Jack's smile didn't part to show his teeth, it stayed tight lipped, evident he wasn't as enthused as his tone of voice was letting on. "Yup! Just for a couple of months."

"Okay, we can totally pull this off. It will be like playing pretend, remember?" She nudged him with her elbow, trying to lighten the mood with a memory from their childhood. More so for herself than him.

"You mean like when we got married under that old oak tree at my grandparents' house in the summer between sixth and seventh grade?" Jack nudged her back.

"Yup when you only agreed to get pretend married so you could get your first kiss."

She let a little giggle slip out as she reminisced on the memory of her and Jack as kids under the oak tree.

A young Jack with his signature smirk standing at the ‘altar’ with the “preacher Luke”. Jack didn’t wait for Luke to do his part of the pretend wedding he skipped straight to the kiss. ‘Couldn’t wait tootsie I was just wanting my 1st’

"If I remember correctly that was your first kiss too, and you asked for another one because of the ‘belly flies’." Jack teased her enjoying seeing her cheeky smile and blush creeping up on to her cheeks.

Y/n’s laughter echoed loudly through the room. "Jack Hughes, you are such a jerk!" She said playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jack laughed echoing her laughter. "So, do we have an agreement? You'll be okay with fake dating me, even though we never got fake divorced?"

Y/n shook her head yes once again, while rolling her eyes at the boy next to her. “Yes, Jackers. Even though you never fake divorced me, I will fake date you.”

If she only knew that Jack was silently and brutally beating himself up for this. They were in for a roller coaster of chaos and changes.

Now that he had secured one portion of the agreement, he has footwork left in figuring out how to get out of the hoops and twists. Like how to get out of that very public break up after a few months into dating. He wasn’t going to make her out to be some bitch she’s not.

And if Jack has it his way, they won’t be breaking up and it won’t be a “fake” relationship for long either.

Because Jack Hughes is hopelessly in love with his best friend. If he has any luck, besides puck luck, she loves him too.

notes 2.0: hello! welcome to my newest mini series, believe in me i hope you enjoyed the first part of the series. i am always open to kindly put creative criticism. i truly appreciate all of the continued support by reading, liking, & reblogging! thank you thank you!

[19871997]

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[spacedace]

Hey.

Hey hey hey hey hey

So, I was looking up clones in the DC universe for my Clone Queen Elle dp x dc AU thing, and I only got as far as the first one because I started with that clone of Damian that killed him, and I got completely derailed because -

What do you MEAN he was BORN in a WHALE??? What? WHAT?

WHY DID TALIA PUT HIM IN A WHALE? HOW??? WHY?!?

Was the whale alive?? Was it like a surrogate thing? I know I asked this already but really why a WHALE? Like what the actual fuck???

Like I'm sure there's context I'm missing because I just looked at the wiki and I know I should just read the comic to get my answers and I will eventually but I just gotta get this out of my system first because of all the things I could have possibly expected to read there was no way I could have been ready for that

[minisugakoobies]

Paradise | JJK - Fifteen

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: we finally get a JinKook showdown in the most ridiculous way possible, the tiniest bit of angst, CONFESSIONS!!, followed by post-confession sex, JK hits it raw, OC in lingerie, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lots of talking about feelings, I'm sorry but this gets a little soft because I love these two

Word Count: 6.3k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: We're back and we're nearing the end! Thank you to everyone who has been waiting patiently for the next chapter - I didn't mean for it to take so long, but, well, life 🤷‍♀️ Anyway, I'm very excited to share this chapter with you finally - I hope you enjoy!

Unbeta’d as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you!  💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist ♦️ Next Chapter

Despite his words earlier, Jungkook is in fact one of the first people on the dance floor when it opens. And of course, you’re right there with him. How could you say no when he holds his hand out and smiles at you like that - like nothing else would make him happier right now than you in his arms?

After all the time you’ve spent admiring Jungkook’s moves when he dances for you, it’s a whole new perspective to get to experience them when you’re dancing with him. Part of that difference is due to the deejay keeping it wholesome with the song selections, since Jennie and Yoongi’s family members are the majority of the revelers surrounding you. So there’s a lot less grinding and a lot more distance between the two of you.

You don’t really try to keep up with him - it’s not that you’re a terrible dancer, it’s just that he’s so fucking good. His every movement is so natural, like he’s not even trying. He does show off just a little bit, when Jisoo eggs him on, slipping into a freakishly accurate robot that has a small ring of guests gathering around to cheer him on. The giant grin on his face tells you he’s enjoying the attention just as much as the faint blush on the tips of his ears tells you he’s just a little bashful about it. 

After a few songs, the music finally slows a little, the crowd thinning as only couples are left. Jungkook draws you close, one arm sliding around your back as the other clasps your hand, holding it to his chest. The room around you falls away as he takes the lead, swaying with you around the floor.

“Are you having a good time, jagi?” he murmurs after a moment. 

“I am, Kookie.” Lifting your head from his shoulder, you gaze into his eyes, feeling that familiar warmth overtake you when he returns your smile. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Like I’d turn down the chance for free food and drinks,” he teases, laughing when you huff and try to pull away, tightening his grip to keep you locked in place. “What? I’m just being honest.” 

“Ass,” you mutter, but you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. He lifts his arm, hand pressing lightly on your back to guide you in a spin, then brings you back into his embrace. You spot Rosé across the room, watching you and Jungkook dance, and she politely claps as you shake your head, grinning. 

The beat picks up again, and your friends surround you and Jungkook. Rosé, Jisoo, and Jin all dance together as Lisa introduces Yi-Jeong to the group. Even Jennie and Yoongi join in, and it’s true what Jennie told you yesterday - her man definitely has moves. Everyone’s happy and laughing, and you’re so full of joy you could just burst.

Jin suddenly twirls, facing Jungkook with an intense look on his face. The younger man takes a step back in surprise as Jin starts to rock his body back and forth, like he’s about to bust out a breakdance move. Is he seriously about to - 

“Ooh, dance battle!” Jisoo cups her hands around her mouth, yelling. Your other friends start whooping, forming a circle around Jungkook and Jin. Jisoo pulls you next to her from where you’ve been standing, so you’re not between them anymore. “Get it, Bambi!” 

While the others around you are shouting encouragement, you just gaze silently between the two men, unsure if you should be joining in. Unsure if this is a friendly competition or if the tense vibes you feel radiating between them is something more. From the expressions on their faces, it’s clear that they’re going to do this, so you just sigh, bobbing along to the beat, waiting for the show. 

Jungkook stops gawking at Jin and begins bedrocking, swinging his hands as he faces Jin with a fierce look. Jin glares back, sticking his arms out as he undulates in a rather impressive wave, rolling his long limbs from left to right. 

It’s not until you hear clapping behind you that you realize that more people have joined the circle, crowding in behind you, shouting Jin’s name. Jungkook hears it too, his brow furrowing slightly. It’s clear his competitive nature’s kicked in when he peels his suit jacket off. You hold your hand out for it automatically, feeling a swoop of heat in your stomach as he gives it to you with a wink. 

The tip of his tongue slips out as Jungkook suddenly throws himself towards the ground, landing on one hand like he’s doing a handstand, and then kicks his legs out in a cartwheel kick. He’s so smooth with it, inverting himself like it’s nothing, that you actually gasp.

It’s like he cranked the volume up on the crowd, and someone - Rosé, maybe? - starts chanting Jungkook’s name. You can’t help but add your voice to the mix. 

Jungkook lands back on his feet and motions for Jin to go. Jin also takes his jacket off, jaw clenching firmly. He rolls his body a few times before bouncing into the Roger Rabbit, feet stepping quickly, arms flapping at his side like wings. It’s surprisingly loose and funky, two words you don’t typically associate with Jin. 

Lisa yells, “Go chef!” and the crowd divides itself into two chants. Jin ends his turn with a little flourish, dusting imaginary dirt from his broad shoulders. But you know from Jungkook’s smirk that he’s undaunted, and without a second’s hesitation, he swiftly dives to the floor, launching himself into a windmill.

Your friends explode into cheers, watching Jungkook roll round and round the floor. As he picks up speed, he tucks his arms up onto his stomach, doing the trick with no hands. Then he comes to a stop with a freeze, legs hanging in the air. 

The crowd chants Jungkook’s name only as he rises to his feet. He straightens his tie, then gestures to Jin. Jin rocks for a few beats, a strange look in his eye. 

Then he throws his hands out in front of him, holding one steady while the other mimics winding a reel. 

“Is he - is he fishing for Jungkook?” 

You don’t answer Rosé as there’s no need to. Jin’s clearly doing the fishing pole move. One by one, the voices around you grow quieter. Jungkook blinks at Jin for a few seconds, obviously thrown by this decision.

Then he grins, flapping his hands by his face like fins.

“Oh, wow, they share a brain cell,” Lisa says. “Did not see that coming.” 

Jisoo groans. “Well, this is anticlimactic. I was promised bloodshed.” 

“Who promised you that?” you ask, laughing. Feeling a tiny bit relieved. 

The crowd departs, but the two men keep dancing. Jungkook pretends he’s been hooked, thrashing from side-to-side before dropping to the ground in his signature dolphin kick. Always a performer to the end, you think, as he hops back to his feet, and he and Jin take turns bowing to one another. 

The smile on his face gets wider when Jungkook sees you clapping for him. He reaches for his jacket, and you impulsively press a kiss to his cheek, biting back a laugh as his eyes widen slightly.

“If those are the moves you pull out for a dance-off, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for later,” you whisper. Jungkook’s arm grips your side as he tilts his head to look at you. His touch is warm, but it can’t match the heat in his eyes. 

“Careful what you ask for, jagiya,” he replies, gaze dropping to your mouth so briefly that you almost miss it. “I need some water. Do you want anything?” 

You shake your head, and he disappears towards the tables. As soon as he’s gone, you feel someone brush your arm. 

“Okay, I’ll give it to the kid - he’s got moves,” Jin declares, holding his hand out in an offer to dance. You silently take it, letting him pull you close as the deejay cues up a ballad. 

Jin’s quiet for a few beats, leading you in small circles around the dance floor. It strikes you that this is the first time the two of you have really been face-to-face since yesterday, that weird standoff in the hallway earlier notwithstanding. You haven’t had a chance to talk to him alone since - 

“So what’s up with your boy?” 

You meet Jin’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Jungkook? What do you mean?”

Jin shrugs, the movement jostling your hand where it rests on his shoulder. “I mean, he looked like he was ready to throw hands when he introduced himself earlier. Like he was just itching for a fight.” 

“And you’re not?” You snort when he blinks in exaggerated confusion. “Oh, come on, all those snide little comments you were making at the table? Arguing with him about who has it worse? What was that all about?” 

Jin maintains his affronted expression for half a minute longer before he starts to laugh. “Okay, fine, I admit I was just pushing his buttons at dinner. In my defense, he made it too easy!” He laughs harder when you roll your eyes and start to pull away. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But I had to do something to cheer myself up. It wasn’t easy for me to sit there and watch the two of you together, to see the way you look at him.” 

Your curiosity tampers down your annoyance for a moment. “How do I look at him?” 

Jin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Like there’s no one else in the world.” 

You glance away, unsure what to say to that. Your gaze flits around the room until it lands on Jungkook, finding him at one of the tables, chatting with Lisa and Yi-jeong. His nose crinkles as he laughs with your friend, tattooed hand coming up to swipe away the hair that falls into his face, and you hear Jin sigh. 

“Yeah, that’s the look,” he says, shaking his head. He shifts his arm from your back, leading you into a gentle spin. “I was honestly surprised at how easy it was to antagonize him. Figured nothing I could do or say would bother him, knowing he won your heart.”

When you don’t respond to that, staring at Jin’s bowtie instead of meeting his eye, he hums. 

“Oh, I see. You haven’t told him yet.” 

Without warning, Jin dips you. You gasp, clutching his bicep to steady yourself.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he murmurs. His hand grips yours tightly, arm cradles your back, keeping you in place while his face hovers a mere breath above yours. 

It’s an intimate pose, the way he holds you now, yet just like yesterday, you feel nothing.

“No. No second thoughts.” You’ve recovered from your momentary shock, voice steady as you reply. “I’m sorry, Jin, but like I told you yesterday, it’s Jungkook I want.” 

Immediately, you’re back on your feet. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Jin grins a crooked grin. “Had to ask, though.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m starting to regret this whole ‘let’s be friends’ idea.” 

He ignores your jibe. “Can I ask you a serious question?” 

You take a moment to study his face before answering. All traces of humor have vanished as he waits for your response. Slowly, you nod. 

“What are you waiting for?” 

The rooftop garden glows softly in the night air, lit by tiny lights strung along the trees and flowering plants. Hidden speakers strewn around the open space bring the music from the reception outside, providing a gentle soundtrack for a beautiful summer evening. 

“Where are we going?” Jungkook asks, hand clasped firmly in yours as you lead him out of the reception and across the garden. 

In the corner of the roof, there’s a small nook carved out between two potted cherry blossoms, their branches obscuring the two of you from any of the other guests milling about. Right now, you need a little privacy.

You also need a moment to gather your thoughts. Your stomach’s jumped into your throat at the thought of what you’re about to do, and your anxiousness makes it hard to think straight. It doesn’t help that you’re slightly distracted by the sight in front of you. 

Although the sun’s long since set, the air is still warm. Jungkook’s shed his jacket, has his tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hand still in yours as he looks at you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to speak. You can see the moon reflecting in his bright eyes, and for a moment, you’re back in the elevator at your apartment, staring at your handsome neighbor, that shy man with the sweet smile.

It wasn’t that long ago that he was a total stranger. Someone you saw occasionally at the mailboxes, someone who regularly ran away when you tried to talk to him. You didn’t know anything about him back then - what he did, what he liked, what made him laugh. What his kisses felt like. 

It wasn’t that long ago, yet it already feels like a distant memory. One that you never want to return to. Knowing everything you know about him now, feeling everything you feel - you can’t go back. There’s only one thing you need to do now - tell him. 

No reason to wait a second longer. 

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand. “Jungkook, I brought you out here because I wanted to tell you something. I’m… ah, I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but I’m gonna try because I don’t want to drag this out when I don’t need to.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, so you go on. 

“You know how I went to Jennie’s yesterday? Um, Jin was also there, with Yoongi. He pulled me aside and told me that the job Wendy asked me to interview for is actually his show for Nosh. And then he started talking about the two of us working together and traveling and -”

“Choose me, jagiya.” 

“Huh?” 

His interruption throws you off from the rambly mess you were attempting to say. Jungkook reaches for your other hand, holding both against his chest, and gives you a shaky smile. 

“Choose me, jagi. I know I don’t have a career like Seokjin does, or his money, or - or even a guarantee that I’ll ever have either of those things. I probably can’t promise you most of the things he can.” He pauses to draw a long breath, like he’s trying to slow himself down and not rush over his words, and oh, you want to kiss him so much right now. Even if this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “But I can promise y-”

“No no!” It’s his turn to look surprised as you raise your hands to his mouth, muffling his speech. “Jungkook, stop! I was trying to tell you that I ended things with Jin yesterday. You don’t have to say another word because it’s over.” 

“Mmt’s omer?” he mumbles against your fingers, eyes widening. 

“Yes, it’s over,” you giggle, uncovering his mouth, and suddenly all of your nervousness floats away on the evening breeze. “Come on, Kookie. Don’t you know? I’ve already chosen. It’s you. It’s always been you.” 

Jungkook continues to stare at you with those big doe eyes as your words slowly sink in, and you can’t help but smile, fondly, so, so fondly, that familiar sensation of warmth surging up from your chest, and you know now that it has a name, that buzz, that elation, that euphoria, and it’s on the tip of your tongue, just waiting for you to breathe it to life. 

So you exhale. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” 

For just the slightest of moments - a fraction of a second, a single heartbeat - when he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t so much as blink or breathe, you’re scared you’ve said too much. It’s too soon, too fast, too everything. 

But then he wraps his arms around you, holding you close enough that you can feel his own heart thumping wildly within his chest, and puts your fears to rest with four simple words, whispered softly against your lips.  

“Jagi, I’ve already fallen.” 

He kisses you, soft and slow, every touch so full of tenderness that you could cry. You tangle your fingers in his hair, desperately seeking something to hold onto, to keep you from floating right off the roof. He’s fallen for you. Jungkook’s fallen for you. 

You never knew your heart could hold so much. 

All your nervousness from before has dissipated. Now the only reason your pulse races is the nearness of him.

“Are you in any hurry to get back in there?” he asks, tipping his head towards the party.

You shake your head. 

He smiles. “Good.” 

He takes your hand again, locking his other arm around your back. You lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, listening to him sing along lightly with the music drifting across the rooftop. Even when the song changes to something more uptempo, he doesn’t let go, just laces his fingers through yours and continues to sway with you beneath the stars. 

Many songs later, when the two of you finally return to the party, you find that it’s already winding down. Jennie and Yoongi are making their rounds to say goodbye, needing to go home  and pack for their trip to Jeju Island in the morning. 

Jennie grabs your arm and pulls you away from Jungkook, waving the other bridesmaids over. “I’m gonna do it tonight!” 

Jisoo pinches her cheek. “Babe, you’ve already done it. That’s why you’re late, remember?” 

“Ha, ha.” Jennie smacks her hand away. “I mean I’m gonna tell Yoongi I’m pregnant, smartass.” 

“Ah, I’m so excited for you!” Lisa gives her a hug, and then you’re all hugging. 

“Have you all had a good time tonight?” Jennie asks, not waiting for an answer. “This has been the most amazing day! Thank you for everything, I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

“Yes, you could have,” you grin. 

“Okay, true, I could have. But it wouldn’t have been as much fun without you all. I love you so much!” 

“We love you too. Now go celebrate with your husband!” Rosé giggles, emphasizing the last word with an energetic wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“Yeah, get out of here. Some of us have plans tonight but we can’t leave until you do.” Jisoo declares. 

“She makes a good point,” Lisa chimes in, glancing over her shoulder at where Yi-jeong sits alone, clearly waiting. 

“Wow, okay,” Jennie laughs, but she’s flying too high to really be mad. “I’ll see you all in a week!” 

It’s as you turn to walk back to Jungkook that you remember. 

“Oh! Lisa!” 

Your friend glances at you as you back away with a giant grin. 

“Pay Rosé her fifty bucks.” 

“Why are your friends screaming like that?” Jungkook asks when you rejoin him. 

You just smile and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Ready to get out of here?” 

Riding Jungkook’s motorcycle is a much more pleasant experience tonight than it was on your way home from your first date. The sky is clear above you as Jungkook expertly weaves through traffic, and you’re warm and dry sitting behind him, wearing his suit jacket, arms tight around his waist. You spend most of the ride hugging more than holding on to him. 

Every few blocks, he releases the hand grip to let his palm rest on your thigh for a moment, squeezing gently. You think he means it as a reassuring touch, knowing how shaky you are with the entire concept of motorcycles to begin with, how just the thought of riding one still makes you nervous, but the actual effect he's having on you is far from comforting. It’s driving you insane.

By the time you reach your apartment door, you’re feral with need. You toss Jungkook’s jacket onto the floor and Jungkook lets out a surprised yelp when you tug on his arm as he’s closing the door. He barely has a chance to turn the lock before you’re pulling him down, passionately kissing away his confused noise. 

“B-baby,” he finally manages to stammer out after a few minutes of intense making out, “baby, do you wanna move to the couch?” 

You shake your head. “Need you now.” 

“Yeah?” His eyes are so dark that it makes you shudder when he catches your gaze. “Always so needy for me, huh? Just like the first time?” 

You remember that night, the way he’d fucked you against the hallway wall, both of you too desperate to even make it another ten feet to your bed. That same greedy desire burns through you now. 

Thank god for the slit in your dress. Hitching your leg up, you wrap it around his back, guiding him back down on top of you. 

“Just like that,” your voice trembles, back arching as Junghook’s hand snakes between you, rubbing at you through your dress. “Ahh, fuck, just like that!” 

You grasp at the side zipper on the dress, fingers fumbling too much to yank it down as quickly as you want. Jungkook has to do it for you, helping you sit up long enough to shed the entire gown. 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Jagi.” 

If you weren’t already dying for him, the expression on his face when he sees you in the lingerie you’re wearing beneath your dress would do it. 

“Does it look better in person?” you ask, running your fingers over your chest, thumbs pressing in slow circles to wake your nipples, feeling them swell beneath the lace. 

With a pained groan, Jungkook starts hurriedly tearing at his suit, throwing the items nearly halfway across the open space of your living room in his urgency, not stopping until he’s completely naked, cock already hardening between his legs. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, biting his lip to let his hands do the talking. They travel over your torso, up across your breasts, squeezing your hands so you grip yourself harder. He laughs at your little gasp, and then he’s swallowing your sounds with his eager mouth, knocking your legs apart with his knee so he can press his body to yours. 

Your own impatience has you hooking your calves the backs of his thighs, bending your knees to urge him nearer. But no matter how close he is to you, it’s not enough, an itch you can’t scratch no matter how much you try. 

“I think this is going to have to come off now,” you frown, tugging at your bodice. You need to feel him, skin-to-skin. 

“Oh, not yet,” Jungkook says, voice near enough to be a growl. “Please, jagi, keep it on a little longer. For me.” He looks at you with such a lustful gaze that you find yourself nodding, immediately caving to his wish. If he wants to fuck you in your lingerie, fine. There will be more time to feel him later. 

There will be more time for everything you want with Jungkook. 

His mouth reconnects with yours. You sigh into him as his fingers find the snaps at the crotch of the teddy. He’s not gentle with them, practically ripping them open, but he’s more delicate as he slides his finger into you, finding you just as wet as always. He plunges two fingers in, and you know he’s trying to take his time and make sure you’re ready, but you’re too impatient for his consideration right now. 

“Come on, Kookie,” you plead, cupping his chin to draw his gaze away from his work, “I’m ready. I need you now.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, clearly reading your frustration. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I wanna feel you.” 

He reaches for his pants, which have been flung over the back of the couch, and you stop him.

“No, I mean, I want to feel you.”

Jungkook swallows hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing. “Jesus Christ, jagiya, you’re going to kill me.” He kisses you again, before his expression turns serious. “Can we? I mean, are you on something -” 

Laughing, you grab his face again, pulling him back to you for another kiss. 

“I have an implant. And I haven’t been with anyone since you and I have been…” you trail off, unsure what to call it. Dating? “Not since the last time I was tested.” 

“No one?” He doesn’t say the name, but you know what he’s asking. 

“No one.” You and Seokjin never got that far.

“I haven’t been with anyone either.” Jungkook strokes his thumb along your cheek. “It’s just been you. You’re the only one I want.” 

“Then have me.” With another sigh, you lift your hips, rolling against him. 

Jungkook groans, and you barely have a second to breathe before his lips take yours again. There’s some shifting, you spreading your legs while he’s propping himself up on one elbow and lining himself up with his other hand, and then he’s sinking in, slowly, filling you up hot inch by hot inch, until he’s completely sheathed. 

You got your wish. You can feel all of him. It’s a new sensation, and it’s intense, but you can tell it’s even more so for him. 

“Oh, goddamn, jagi.” Jungkook presses his forehead to yours. His chest heaves as he holds himself completely still. “You’re so - fuck.” 

“Yeah? Is it that good?” 

He nods a little, eyes squeezing shut, and you run your fingers through his hair, trying to impart some comfort. As much as you want him to rail you through the floor right now, you don’t want to rush him anymore. 

“Does it really feel that different?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s not that. That’s part of it - you feel so fucking good, baby - but it’s - it’s…” He huffs out a short breath, shaking his head again. “I don’t know how to say it. It’s everything.” 

And you understand exactly what he means, not by whatever he’s trying and failing to say, but by the look in his eyes. 

“Oh,” is all you can say, feeling your own words slipping away from you, as he starts to move. 

His cock drags slowly, so slowly at first, his head bowing as he concentrates on the feeling of you, the way your cunt seems to suck him back in eagerly, walls clenching when he snaps his hips experimentally. He observes every breath that escapes you, every mewl and whimper, and adjusts his pace, the strength of his thrusts, all the while drowning in his own perception, the tight heat and wetness of your core making his eyes roll back in his head with each pump. 

Neither of you speak after that, but you don’t need to. Your bodies communicate everything you’re feeling, punctuated by the unrestrained noises you both make. Your nails rake down Jungkook’s back as he fucks into you, drawing whine after whine from him, broken cries of desire, of wanting you to hold him, claim him, just as he’s claiming you. Mine, your fingernails declare, inscribing his skin with scratches. Yours, his hips answer in return, powerfully driving into yours, connecting you again and again, faster and faster. 

His hand clutches at the thigh you’ve wrapped around his waist, fingers twisting around the garter straps, and you can tell from his unsteady panting that he’s close. Your own pleasure is nearing the precipice, but you know he’s going to reach his first. Which he confirms with a strangled whimper.

“Jagi, I’m - I’m gonna come,” he grits through his teeth, brow furrowed, like he’s focusing all his energy on not coming right then and there. “‘M sorry, I can’t stop, I can’t - “

“Don’t stop, Kookie, don’t stop!” You don’t care if he finishes first. This isn’t about just sex anymore. All you want is for him to feel as good as he makes you feel, all the time. “Come on, cum inside me. Give me everything, fill me up!” 

“Fuck!” he grunts, moaning your name, and with only a few more thrusts, he follows your command. His hips jerk wildly as he gives in to the burning need beneath his skin and fills you with his hot release. It seems to go on and on, until he’s gasping, sagging against you weakly, too wrung out to hold himself up any longer. “Holy shit.”

You just hum, stroking his sweat-soaked hair, until he finally lifts his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I got caught up in the moment. Too much going on in my head and - and, fuck, you felt too good.” He gives you a sheepish smile.

You shush his apologies with a laugh, wrapping your arms around him again, urging him to lay down, so his head rests on your chest. “You don’t have to explain. It’s been… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like this.” 

He sighs, moving slightly so he can leave light kisses over your covered chest. “Me too.” His hand trails lazily down your torso, following the swirls in the lace’s pattern. “I’m glad you said what you did. On the roof. I wanted to tell you before how I felt, but I was afraid you’d think I was rushing things.” His voice gets quieter. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

There’s a sadness in his tone, a naked vulnerability that makes your heart ache, so you squeeze him a little tighter. You know exactly what he means. 

He raises his head a little, starts kissing his way down your stomach. “Are you still…”

“Am I still what?” You bite your lip as he reaches the apex of your thighs, gently nudging them further apart so he can lie in between. 

Jungkook presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, one side, then the other, before he looks up at you. “Was that enough for you or are you still wanting more? You were so needy earlier, jagiya.” 

Of course you still want more. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him. 

“Yeah,” you say, your fingers combing his hair out of his face so there’s nothing hiding him from you, just as there’s nothing hiding you from him, “I want more. Please, Kookie.” 

The smirk that spreads across his lovestruck face sends your heart racing. Your back arches off the floor when he coaxes the first orgasm from you with his tongue, feels like it might snap in half by the time he pulls the second one with his fingers. 

You melt into his embrace afterward, so thoroughly satiated, so utterly content, that you nearly fall asleep. But Jungkook coaxes you off the floor and into the bathroom, to wash his back in the shower before he tenderly scrubs yours, and then into bed, where the last thing you see before closing your eyes is the smile on his face as he whispers good night. 

“What does this one mean?” 

It’s late. Very late, sometime between midnight and early morning, when you should be asleep. You’d awoken in need of some water, slipping out carefully, trying not to wake Jungkook, only to come back to find him up and waiting for you to return to bed. He wasn’t just awake but up up, and you couldn’t resist, climbing directly into his lap for a slow, lazy ride. 

Now, you’re lying together, back pressed to Jungkook’s chest, with his arm draped beneath your breasts, as he gives you a tour of his tattoos. He tells you that most are symbolic, but a few have stories behind them, and you listen raptly to each one. Even though he’s probably tired, he’s indulging you, answering all your questions without so much as a single yawn.

He tilts his head to look at where you’re tapping on a striped snake. “That one? That’s supposed to represent growth. You know, shedding my skin, like a snake.” He flexes his forearm and the snake moves as if undulating on its own. “Do you like snakes?” 

“I like them a lot more than spiders, I can tell you that,” you reply, giggling. 

He laughs, watching silently as your fingers roam over his skin. There’s so much ink covering him, and you’re dying to know about all of it, filled with a buzzing curiosity despite the late hour. 

“What about this one?” Gingerly, you trace over the orange tiger lily etched onto the inside of his forearm, as if afraid that pressing too harshly will cause the petals to crumple. It’s gorgeously vibrant, the glowing color popping vividly against his skin. 

“Ah, that’s my birth flower.” Jungkook laughs a quick laugh. “That one was actually Taehyung’s suggestion. Do you know what the flower is supposed to represent?” 

“Uh-uh.” 

“Self-confidence.” He laughs again, shaking you a little as his chest vibrates. “He said it’d be a good reminder when he’s not around, that I still need to be confident.”

“Taehyung’s a good friend,” you remark, and Jungkook hums in assent. He rubs mindlessly at the flower with his other hand, fingertips bumping against yours. 

“You know, there’s another reason I got this one. A hidden meaning that tiger lilies are meant to express.” 

“Ooh, a hidden meaning?” You tilt your head to peer at him. “And what’s that?” 

Even in the dim light from your bedside lamp, you can see the tips of Jungkook’s ears turning red as he smiles bashfully, his eyes crinkling when he answers. “Please love me.” 

It’s impossible to resist kissing him, kissing that shy bunny smile that you’ve adored all this time, so you don’t even try, cupping his cheeks gently while you brush his lips with yours. When you pull away, his face is flushed, and he laughs, dipping his head in embarrassment even as he whispers, “Keep going.” 

You giggle, and kiss him again, and then stop. “Oh! Wait a minute.” 

Jungkook lets out a small grunt of displeasure when you leave his embrace, but you return quickly, handing him a small frame from your desk. 

“Jagi, you framed this?” He stares through the glass at the tiger lily sketch he’d drawn for you, back when he asked you out on your first date.

“Well, yeah. It was too pretty not to.” 

You take your place between his legs again, his arm automatically sliding around your waist while he gazes at the picture. “But it was just a quick little drawing. It’s not my best work.” 

“So? I think it’s beautiful. And… it’s from you.” You can feel your neck warming as you speak. “I like to keep it on my desk when I’m working. Every time I get annoyed by something, I look at it, and it calms me down.” Your lips quirk in a little smile. “So you can imagine that I look at it a lot,” you say, half-joking, half-not. Because it’s true, you do stare at it a lot. The drawing always brings you peace. Because it reminds you of Jungkook. So fiery and bright, but also so lovely and delicate. 

“Jagi,” Jungkook says again, swallowing thickly. His arm squeezes you closer.

You take the frame from his hand, placing it on the nightstand, before shifting to face him, legs straddling his as you loop your arms around his neck. “Be honest - were you sending me a hidden message with this?” 

His ears are burning red again. “Maybe. Guess it worked.” 

You surge forward, kissing the cheeky smile right off his face. His hands settle on your hips, holding you tightly, as if right now there’s any danger of you leaving. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be, with no one else. 

But you’re also wondering something you’ve been wondering for a while now, and since he’s been so obliging so far, you decide to ask him one more question. “Can I ask you something?”

“Jagi, all you’ve been doing is asking me questions,” Jungkook grins. 

You roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “Yeah, okay, I just mean, can I ask about something that doesn’t have anything to do with your tattoos?” 

He nods. 

“If I hadn’t come to Paradise with my friends that night, would you ever have made a move?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that question, judging by the look on his face. His eyes fall out of focus as they stare unseeing at you, and you know he’s lost in thought. You give him the time to find his way to an answer, running your fingers through his hair soothingly while you wait.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I’d like to think that yes, I would’ve gotten up the nerve to talk to you. But it might’ve taken a while. Seeing you at Paradise kind of gave me an opening.”

“I think this still would’ve happened,” you tell him, suddenly filled with an unusual amount of confidence, bolstered by his hands on your waist, his eyes locked on yours, “all of this. I think we would’ve ended up just like this.” 

“How do you know that?”

“I would’ve worn you down at the mailboxes,” you grin. “At the rate we were going, it probably would’ve taken a decade, but we’d get there eventually.” 

He laughs, hands locking behind your back as he holds you close. “Or maybe I would’ve shown up at your door one night and danced for you. Maybe that’s what I did in another universe.” 

“I’m sure it worked,” you murmur, leaning closer to his lips. “I think in any universe, we end up like this. We’re just lucky that we got here so fast.” 

“The luckiest,” he agrees, closing the space between you. 

When you finally fall asleep again, you dream of falling through other universes, following the same dark eyes and wicked smirk through each.

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© 2021-22-23-24 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[mandacantu]

10 Reasons Why I Actually Loved The Crow Remake

FKA Twigs - I'm not going to sit here and pretend I am not a huge twigs fan, because I love anything she touches and especially her music. This was her first time as a leading lady and I thought she did a good job. I do think there were some points where her line reading could have been a little more fast paced in some spots, but overall, I think she was captivating, eloquent and emotional. And wow, so many stunning visuals that we got of her from this movie!

2. We didn't have to see depictions of brutal and violent deaths of women in this film. I didn't want to spend too many of my thoughts on comparisons to the original The Crow, but one thing I noticed was that I didn't have to endure the violent and sexually abusive death of Shelly or any other woman in this movie. I do like the original movie but never cared for the way they went all in on Shelly's death. In this remake, we still see Shelly die but we don't have to endure gratuitous SA scenes whilst losing the leading lady. I appreciated that and was able to relax more, honestly.

3. The villain had actual motivation for killing and being a villain. There was some decent backstory and character development for the villain and that is something that I always appreciate. Some of my favorite pieces of media (like Spirited Away and Knives Out) do well to at least give the villain a story or a reason for being bad. I think it adds depth to the story and for me, helps immerse me into the plot more.

4. It felt like a comic book come to life. From the color grading and palette to the way scenes were cut and moved from one to the next, it felt like I was flipping through a comic book. There were moments that were very whimsical in depictions of love and then very gritty scenes. The contrast in some of those scenes felt similar to flipping a page in a comic.

5. It was very romantic and spent a lot of time focusing on their love story. I thought their love was believable and felt like that whirlwind kind of love where you just want to party and kiss all night. It gave me a reason to care about both of the characters and it gave Shelly a place in the spotlight where she becomes so much more than just a symbol of loss for character development. Focusing on their love and giving us some romance was a timeless decision and puts their love story up there with Romeo and Juliet or Christian and Sateen.

6. Soundtrack was amazing! If you are into some new wave, some goth tunes and some dance tracks, this is the playlist for you. Beyond just the soundtrack, it was truly a different experience to see it synced up to parts of the movie as intended. The intro was amazing, I thought it was like a James Bond meets Underworld mixed with some NIN music video sprinkled in there. The folks who worked on the score deserve a standing ovation. There were moments where I was tearing up because of how well the music paired with the scene. Most memorable and moving was Joy Division's Disorder when they bust out of rehab together and a perfectly placed Boadicea by Enya. There were so many other good ones too, I'm seriously considering seeing it again just for the mini music videos you get from the film.

7. It was aesthetically pleasing. And I'm not just talking about the eye candy that was Bill Skarsgård, though lets give him his flowers for being a true Mr. Fanservice! The actual visuals were beautiful. I loved the cinematography and color choices. It was truly a feast for the eyes. Just take a look at this beautiful gif set by pizgif!

8. I could easily see a story about grief and the longing for justice for loved ones. I thought it was a good story and as I watched it, I thought to myself that the person who wrote the original comic must have gone through an immense loss. It wasn't until I looked it up that it seems to be confirmed that The Crow was inspired by such loss. The moodiness of the movie itself added to the weight of the tragic storyline. In that, I liked that it takes a while for Eric to become The Crow. Losing someone you love transforms you and in this sense, the movie is all about that transformation and pain and longing.

9. I liked the ending. I don't want to say too much to spoil it, but I enjoyed the different ending and I was definitely teary eyed and sniffling as I left the theater.

10. It was goth as fuck. I think goth can be a multitude of styles and honestly shouldn't be something that has a gatekeeper. This was emo-boy-goth, it was e-boy-tiktok-hottie-goth, it was goth in a different flavor. I think folks are quick to see this new Eric not dressed like a new-wave-leather-daddy-goth as decidedly not dark enough. To quote a favorite musician, he was "goth as fuck, even when [he's] not in black, gothic is the pain you feel and not the clothes that's on your back."

Closing thoughts: A lot of the negative criticism is coming from men or diehard fans of the 1994 movie, so I am not surprised. This rendition felt like the same story, just done differently and with more emphasis on the love story than the revenge plot. There is nothing wrong with that and nothing wrong with a gothic romance heavy action flick.

This was intended to be a different version of The Crow and that isn't a bad thing. I personally think that if they had done the styling to be an exact replica of Brandon Lee's rendition then the movie would still get tons of hate, if not more. It was a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation for sure. I'm glad they took a risk and deviated from the '94 version.

We have been doing remakes since the creation of art. It has always been common to hear that the new movie coming out is actually a retelling of this classic tale or continuation of that scary story. Remakes are not a new concept and some of them do well to tell the same story in a different way. We are in the day and age where there isn't really an original idea anymore, anyway. In a world full of countless retellings of Batman/Joker and Spiderman movies, why not remake The Crow? I say fire it up!

I think they do a good job to pave the way for others to retell this love story in the same vein as The Joker and Harley Quinn. Hell, I would say to keep going, next let's see a remake where The Crow is about two badass lesbians. (I might have gotten too peppered up watching the movie, it was hot.)

P.S. I loved that there were little things like Eric wearing Shelly's jacket later in the movie. I feel like a lot of critics saw him wearing this jacket and were quick to bash the costume design too, but this is the kind of attention to detail that made their love believable to me. And I thought he looked cute as hell in it.

Okay, the end.

[jenniferlawrencelover]

Happy Together (Poolverine)

Ao3 still down so f*ck it. The first book in the Domestic Poolverine Series. Check it out, and if it tickles your pickle just right, maybe you should head over to my Ao3 after this all blows over!

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Logan Howlett/Worst! Wolverine

Rating: Explicit (NSFW) Mdni

Summary: When Logan moved into the crackhouse Wade made a crackhome, Wade never expected he would stay as long as he did. Least of all him.

Word Count: ~28k

When Logan moved into the crackhouse Wade made a crackhome, Wade never expected he would stay as long as he did. Not that Wade is complaining, and boy does he love to complain. It's one of his many kinks actually. Gets him all hot and bothered when Logan's gruff voice rumbles with irritation, when those feral eyes narrow, when those claws unsheathe with a snikt. God, he was getting wet just thinking about it. Remembering their first time in the Honda Odyssey, the way his claws pierced through Deadpool's lung literally took his breath away as he thrust into him again and again until the seat was covered in bodily fluid. Sure, it was blood, but when it was leaking out of a hole did it really matter what exactly it was?

God, he was going to cream himself if he didn't stop. Not that he had any morals that were to stop him, but he was always a fan of a good edging. He needed to save this for the good bit of the story where he's actually getting laid. Right, author?

Where was he?

Oh, yes. 

---------------------------------------------

Wade didn't think Logan would stick around. Sure, they had their moments—epic, cinematic moments, the kind that made Wade want to shout "Oscar-worthy!" at the top of his lungs. But domesticity? That was new territory. He figured Logan would grow tired of his antics, his constant need to poke, prod, and irritate. Maybe he'd leave after the first week, maybe a month. But weeks turned into months, and months turned into something that felt suspiciously like a routine.

It was almost alarming how easily Logan carved out a place in Wade's life. How perfectly he fit his stocky self into the lawn chair at their dinner table during their family dinners with X-Force, Laura, Vanessa, and Craig. 

(Craig. Perfect Craig with his perfect teeth, perfect job, and perfect everything. Wade loathed him with a fiery passion, mostly because Craig didn't have a single flaw Wade could latch onto. Did he mention that Craig was Vanessa's husband-to-be? Rich asshole. Both figuratively and literally. Absolute clean freak, by the way. You could floss your teeth with his pubes--and isn't that a riveting image?)

Logan didn't exactly fit into the picture of domestic bliss Wade had once envisioned (not that Wade spent much time envisioning domestic bliss, because, let's face it, he was more of a 'chaos and explosions' kind of guy). Yet time and time again would find him sitting at the table with a scowl that could curdle milk, grumbling about everything from the overcooked roast to Dopindor's incessant gambling. Yet, he still showed up every time. Wade figured it was because Logan liked the food, but deep down, he suspected Logan actually liked the people too, not that the grumpy Canadian would ever admit it.

He grunted his way through small talk, glared at Wade every time he cracked a joke at Craig's expense (which was often), and even offered to help clean up afterward. Wade almost had a heart attack at the sight of Logan washing dishes, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with the kind of precision that spoke of someone who'd spent years honing his skills. Of course, Logan was annoyingly good at it, just like he was good at everything else. Worst Wolverine ever his ass.

Domesticity with Logan was like living with a bear that occasionally decided to be helpful. There were times when Logan would do something shockingly sweet, like fixing Wade's busted sink without being asked or restocking the fridge with Wade's favorite beer after a particularly brutal mission. But for every nice thing he did, there was an equal and opposite reaction—like when he'd steal the last slice of pizza just to watch Wade's eye twitch or take over the TV remote and force Wade to endure hours of old westerns that made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Logan had even taken to walking Wade's dog, Mary Puppins, despite his incessant reassurance that he would put her out of her misery the first chance he got. Mary Puppins, who was as obnoxious as Wade (because of course she was), had somehow managed to win Logan over. Watching the gruff, battle-worn Wolverine walking a tiny dog in the park was a sight that Wade wished he could capture on film. He wanted to post it on every social media he owned, blow it up on a canvas, and hang it on his wall. Jerk off to it--Who said that?!

Not everything was perfect, though. There were still the fights. The literal ones, where they went at it like rabid animals, breaking furniture and causing the neighbors to complain about the "domestic disturbances" next door. But those were always followed by a quiet truce, maybe some whiskey, and the understanding that whatever this was, it was working. Sort of.

Sometimes, Wade would find Logan sitting in the dark, the only light coming from the flicker of whatever old-timey cowboy show was playing on cable. He never did anything. Just sat there like fucking Buddha all contemplating and broody staring into nothingness like he had something to prove. Wade didn't know for sure, but he was pretty sure that he was plagued by the same nightmares that Wade pretended he didn't have. When the voices didn't stop, and it hurt behind your eyes just a little too much. Wade always found him. Pulled him from wherever his mind took him by shooting off at the mouth about anything and everything that ran through his mind until Logan was telling him to fuck off, Bub. He never felt that familiar piercing of Logan's claws through his thigh though, so Wade must have done a good thing for once. Not that Logan would ever admit it out loud. The man was about as emotionally expressive as a brick wall. 

Nights were...well nights. Nights should be spent fucking or fighting. Not brooding in front of candlelight like Ebenezer Scrooge if Scrooge had trauma the size of fucking moons and an anger management problem. Wade liked Logan better in the light though.

Liked it better when Logan rolled off of Wade's sofa, where he'd shuffle into the kitchen, hair sticking up in all directions and in two kitten ear-shaped tufts, and grunt a barely intelligible "morning" before downing his first cup of coffee. Well, coffee with a shot of whiskey but if Logan would ignore the raging cocaine problem that was happening in the house Wade would ignore the raging alcoholic problem that was going on under his nose. He was prone to wearing shirts to sleep in despite Wade's multiple attempts to shred them in the washer or coat them in itching powder, but he had an abhorrence to wearing sleep pants which meant Wade was treated to a daily view of Logan's perpetually pissed-off morning face along with his ass sculpted by the Gods in those striped boxers. He did always catch Wade looking at his junk though which meant that he was usually slashed to pieces before ten A.M. Nobody likes a good ole perving anymore!

Hey, you win some you lose some he supposes.

It was a delicate balance they had—Wade's mess of a life clashing with Logan's own brand of controlled chaos. The apartment was a disaster, but it was their disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, bullet casings littered the floor, and there was an ever-present stack of empty pizza boxes that neither of them could be bothered to throw out. Wade's weapons were scattered around like lethal knickknacks, and Logan's flannel shirts seemed to multiply on their own, invading every available surface. And the smell... Christ, the smell. Between Wade's love of greasy takeout and whatever the hell Logan did in his spare time (Wade didn't ask, and Logan didn't tell), the place was a sensory assault on anyone who walked through the door.Cleaning wasn't really on the agenda. Wade had tried once, in a fit of what he could only describe as temporary insanity, to tidy up. Logan had walked in, taken one look at the attempt, and growled something about Wade "ruining the natural order of things" before dropping his muddy boots right in the middle of the freshly vacuumed carpet. Wade had thrown a tantrum, Logan had rolled his eyes, and the place had gone back to its usual state of disarray within hours.

They both had their quirks, their little habits that drove the other crazy. Wade had a tendency to leave his dirty socks everywhere, while Logan seemed to believe that the sink was an appropriate place to leave his half-finished beer bottles. And God forbid Wade tried to move one of Logan's knives—they were everywhere, hidden in every nook and cranny, like some kind of twisted Easter egg hunt. Wade had discovered this the hard way after accidentally slicing his hand off while reaching for a remote. Logan's response had been a casual, "Maybe you shouldn't touch my stuff," which had led to a week-long standoff where Wade hid all the knives in increasingly creative places just to piss Logan off. 

But for all the mess, for all the fucked up shit, it worked. Somehow. Wade wasn't sure how, but it did. Maybe it was because neither of them expected perfection from the other. Wade was a walking disaster, and Logan... well, Logan was Logan. They didn't try to change each other, and didn't push for anything more than what the other was willing to give. It was messy, it was chaotic, but it was real. Something that Wade had never really had before—something that felt suspiciously like home.

------------------------------------

"I swear to God, Wilson, if you don't stop leaving your—whatever the hell this is—everywhere, I'm gonna—"

"Promise? That gets me right in the danger zone, buddy. You threatening me is basically foreplay at this point."

Logan doesn't even dignify that with a response, just storms off to the kitchen, where he proceeds to make a sandwich with the kind of violence usually reserved for bar fights. Wade follows, naturally. Like a mouse after a particularly irate cat. 

"So," Wade starts, hopping up to sit on the counter, legs swinging, "What's the plan for tonight? Movie marathon? Sparring? Ooh, maybe a little mutual grooming? I could use a mani-pedi, and I know those claws could use some love."

Logan's silence is as stony as his jawline, but Wade's nothing if not persistent. And charming. And devilishly handsome. He's the whole package, really.

"You know," Wade continues, leaning back to let his legs dangle in front of Logan's path, "It's been a while since we had a heart-to-heart. Just two bros, sharing feelings, talking about their day. You can go first if you want. Get it all out. I'm here for you, big guy."

Logan's eyes flash up to meet Wade's, a mixture of exasperation and, dare Wade say it, fondness. "You're an idiot," Logan mutters, finally biting into his aggressively assembled sandwich.

"And yet, you still stick around," Wade replies, grinning. "What does that say about you, huh?"

Logan's silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic crunching of his sandwich being devoured with a near-violent fervor. Wade could practically see the tension radiating off of him, like a live wire just waiting to snap. The kind of tension that made Wade shiver with excitement, like an electric shock to the system that he just couldn't get enough of.

Wade leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Peanut, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're actually starting to like me."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Don't push your luck, Bub."

"Oh I'm certainly pushing something if you know what I mean?" Wade waggled his eyebrows.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean-?"

"Are you guys going to fuck anytime soon or should I expect maritals first?"

Wade whipped around, eyes meeting the sunglasses of the reason they were still receiving disability. "Easy Toph. The author is trying to use what fanfiction calls slow burn."

"Who the hell is Arthur?" Blind Al calls, nearly stepping on Dogpool where she hovers at her feet. "When the hell did we get a new roommate?"

"Careful Al," Wade warns. "Right now you are a guppy bumping into the glass when you are supposed to be oblivious to the walls."

"Huh?" She calls back, nearly falling over their Roomba.

---------------------

Sweet baby Marvel Jesus.

What had Wade done right in this life to deserve this moment? Were angels singing? Has the sweet embrace of death finally caught up to him? Was that Mariah Carey's angelic voice singing in the background right now? Was this a thirst edit?

As the steam from the hot shower slowly dissipated, Logan emerged, wrapped in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. And what glorious hips they were. Chiseled. Sharp. Dusted in the same hair that covered the rest of his body. Hubba, Hubba if you know what I mean. His hair was still damp, falling into his face and curling slightly at the ends. Water droplets clung to his skin tastefully, and whoever was in the makeup department deserved a damned raise for the way they accentuated his cheeks flush from the humidity. A water droplet ran down his chest, trailing into his towel into places that much like Orange is the New Black, he can't wait to get into.

Wade's eyes were practically glued to Logan's every move. He tried to blink away the vivid image, but his brain had hitched a ride on the Logan Express and refused to disembark. His mouth was dry, and he felt as if he'd been transported into a scene that was far too cinematic for everyday life.

Logan, oblivious to the turmoil he was causing, was more focused on finding his clothes. But as he glanced up and noticed Wade's incredulous stare, he raised an eyebrow, clearly unnerved. "Fuck is your deal?"

Wade, standing frozen in the doorway with a slack-jawed expression, blinked several times as if trying to wake himself from a fever dream. "Is this real life?" he muttered, though it was more of an exclamation of disbelief than a question. "Because if it is, I'm officially in heaven. And if this is a dream, I'm never waking up. Is this a thirst trap? Are you thirst trapping me?"

Logan, who was in the middle of rummaging for a shirt, glanced up, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "What the hell is a thirst trap?"

"It's what you are beautiful," Wade's eyes wandered appreciatively over Logan's towel-clad figure. "Baby Girl, you're like a walking wet dream, and I'm your number one fan. I'm talking about a lifetime subscription, unlimited access to all your... assets."

"Wade," Logan warned.

"If there were a heat map, it would be showing red alerts all over the place.  Most importantly, on my chimichanga." He pointed vaguely at his crotch with a playful wink.

Snikt

Wade's eyes went wide, but he didn't back down. Instead, he took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, hold up there, furry. I'm just here to admire the view. No need to go all R-rated on me."

"This shit was already R-Rated," Logan growled.

"Well, actually it's rated E for Explicit. They don't have an R-rating on fanfictions," Wade corrected.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about Peanut," Wade cooed. 

----------------------------------------

"Wade, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you are absolutely shit at flirting."

"Thank you, Vanessa. How are things with your fiancé?" Wade responds, sipping tea out of the antique china that her rich new boyfriend could afford. 

"Wade," she said softly, slipping a smooth, delicate hand over Wade's saggy ballsack-looking one. 

"I'm totally over you. Totally," Wade continued. "Can't a guy be curious about his ex-girlfriend's life without ulterior motives? Yeesh, talk about paranoid. And self-obsessed, too. I don't know who you even are anymore-"

"He's been there for three months," She interrupted him.

"Has he?" Wade replied, his tone dripping with faux innocence. He swirled the tea in his cup, watching the steam curl up like wisps of a lost dream. "Wouldn't know. Haven't been counting. Not like I keep a calendar or anything. Celebrate special dates," he punctuates with a loud sip.

"It's okay if you get a boyfriend, Wade," she tells him. "You are allowed to like him."

"Psh, like him?" Wade waves at the air. "Lust him? Oh absolutely. Wanna slather syrup up and down his body and lick it off dirtier than a porn star late on rent. You've seen him with his shirt off, right? Rated E for everyone should see them at all times."

Vanessa cocked an eyebrow. 

Wade pointed a finger at her, "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You're not allowed to go all maternal and shit on me. I have enough mommy issues as it is."

"He's been there. For three months," she reiterates. "I thought you said he was just going to be there until he found someplace else."

"Jesus Ness, just because you hit the jackpot doesn't mean the rest of the world isn't in a national housing crisis," Wade says. "Besides, he's like...absolutely-tutely filled to the brim with undiagnosed trauma-"

"Like you."

"Oh no, baby. I'm diagnosed. Found a therapist and everything," Wade said, pointing two thumbs back at himself. "Sure, I held her at gunpoint and she fired me as a client but we all have our bad days-"

"His crazy matches your crazy."

Wade's words pitter to a stop, and he slams the teacup down. "Copyright."

"Huh?"

"I. Do not. Like Logan," Wade enunciates. "I'm ecstatic you found your happy ever after. Practically leaping for fucking joy. But that's just not in the cards for me, and that's okay. I have Mary Puppins and Blind Al, and I have all of you of course. Logan will leave-"

"So that's what this is about?" She interrupts him. 

Wade took a deep breath, trying to regain his theatrical flair. "Bitch, was I finished with my monologue?" Wade demanded, raising an eyebrow. "I was really spitting fire and you just killed my vibe."

Vanessa, unimpressed, crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. "Are you worried he'll leave you?"

Wade's smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes flickering with something closer to vulnerability than his usual bravado. He leaned back, swirling his tea again, and took a moment before speaking. "Seriously, Vanessa? That's what you think this is about? I'm not worried about Logan leaving me. I mean, I'd be worried if he didn't."

"Wade..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Wade said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't start with the 'it's okay to feel' speeches. I get it."

Vanessa pursed her lips. "I just want you to be happy, Wade."

Wade swirled his tea, giving her a wide and slightly deranged smile. "I am happy. See? Look how wide my smile is. Could an unhappy person look like this?"

"I just don't want you to put your life on hold for me," she said, gripping both of his hands in hers again. "Or because of me. Or whatever."

"Self-centered much?" Wade scoffed playfully, rubbing a thumb over the top of her hand. "Listen, I don't know what you've been reading.  Maybe an enemies to lovers, I heard those are super popular right now. And Loki and Morbius just had that entire really bad guy and really good guy situationship going on which was already super ballsy for Disney. But Logan and I are roommates. Team members. Hopefully, someday super mega best friends who bang on the sofa and on the kitchen table. He'll leave, eventually. Go do whatever it is that X-Men do. And I'll move on with my life. Continue to do what I do. Fucking, fighting, and getting my money up." 

Vanessa let out a long sigh. "Wade, I'm not trying to meddle in your life. I just want you to be okay. You're important to me, you know that, right?"

Wade shrugged, a mischievous grin creeping back onto his face. "Of course I am. I'm Deadpool. I'm the most important person in the room. Most attractive. Funniest. Honestly, the list goes on and on."

Vanessa sighs again into her teacup,  but she doesn't say anything else. Maybe because she knows it would be pointless to try and knock any sense into him. Maybe because not even a second later Mary Puppins was vomiting all over her expensive rug.

——————-

Wade had grown used to Logan's routine, so when Logan deviated from it, it always caused Wade a bit of concern. Sure, Logan was a 200-year-old mutant with an adamantium skeleton and a healing factor, but even he had his habits. And Wade had come to know them intimately. 

Logan would wake up at 5 AM sharp (unless he had been to the bar, in which he would be up around 10 AM), the sound of his alarm barely audible before his claws would snap out to silence it. He'd grunt his way through a series of stretches that Wade could only describe as "yoga for angry lumberjacks" before heading out for a run with Mary Puppins who he still adamantly proclaimed to detest.

When he came back, he would eat a single sandwich with enough meat to feed a small army and wash it down with Ice Mountain water, the only water that makes you defend the argument that water all tastes the same. It's like if you did an enema after a night of drinking nothing but Pink Whitney's, and you scooped the water out of the toilet and distributed it directly into the bottles. Drinking from the bottle was like giving a rimjob to a freshly bleached asshole. 

Usually, Logan disappeared for hours after his post-run sandwich, doing god knows what. As far as Wade knew, he hadn't gone back to X-Men. Too many memories or nightmares etc, etc. His best guess was the bar down the street or a dark corner he could brood in with a strip of sunlight that hit the side of his face just right. So, it was a surprise when Wade walked in covered in blood from his latest sexcapade (read assassination attempt on a grocery assistant manager--don't ask), and saw Logan sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at his laptop.

Logan looked up briefly as Wade entered, his expression neutral. "Rough day?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the blood-stained Deadpool costume.

Wade shrugged, dropping a couple of swords and a small arsenal of weapons onto the counter. "You know, the usual. A few baddies, a couple of explosions, and an awkward conversation with a henchman about his life choices. What about you? Planning a vacation or something? Can I come? I love the beach. Make sure it's a nudist beach, god, I hate those pesky tanlines." He glanced at the laptop screen, trying to catch a glimpse of what Logan was up to.

Logan didn't even crack a smile, clicking something else on the screen. "Figured it's about time I got my own space again."

Record scratch. Freeze frame. 

You see, Wade didn't think Logan would stick around. Logan wasn't the type to settle down anywhere for long, least of all in a one-bedroom apartment with a blind, cocaine addict, a fucked-up ballsack-looking motherfucker who kills people for embarrassing low amounts of cash, and a beautiful dog that seems to smell of raw sewage no matter how many baths she is given. It was a miracle they hadn't killed each other yet. Well, they had, but Wade was just too stubborn to stay dead and Logan was staying alive out of spite.

But Logan was...Logan. Logan didn't take his shit, for one thing. Wade and Logan fought a lot, and only one of them was good with words so often it led to fists or well...claws. Their physical brawls were as much a part of their routine as breakfast or banter, a twisted form of therapy for two guys who couldn't process emotions like normal people. Wade would make some offhand comment, usually about Logan's hair or how badly he wanted his ass, and Logan would respond with a growl and a fist to Wade's face.

So when Logan said he was looking for his own place, Wade felt a tiny twinge of something he didn't want to acknowledge. He wasn't the kind of guy who got attached. Attachment led to pain, and Wade had had more than his fair share of that.

Wade flopped onto the couch, his legs hanging over the armrest as he stared at the ceiling. "You really think you're gonna find something better than this? I mean, look at this place!" He gestured around at the cluttered, chaotic apartment that somehow felt more like home than anywhere he'd ever been. Mary Puppins raised her head from her princess doggy bed, tongue lolling out onto the wet spot of drool on the floor. Distantly, Wade could hear Al playing poker on her laptop (don't ask how, just accept it), as well as the distinct sound of screaming and gunshots a few streets down.

"What did it in? Was it the butt plug I left on your pillow? I said I was sorry. They say the wetter the better, but who knew fisting would be so hard? So much prep-"

"Shut up, Bub."

"Is it because I bought you kitty kibble for your birthday?" Wade continued. "Or because I snorted too much booger sugar with Al and forgot your birthday so we celebrated it a week late? Or was it the scratching post I installed on the wall? I'm only trying to look out for you, Peanut. One scratch on the wrong person and we'll have to get you declawed, and we all know I like you better when you're ten fingers deep in me."

Logan grunted, not even looking up from the laptop. "Privacy, for one thing."

Wade sat up, feigning shock. "Privacy? Pssh. Privacy is overrated. Besides, I give you plenty of privacy. Like that time I didn't burst into the bathroom when you were showering. I waited a full five minutes before I made that joke about helping you clean up with my tongue."

Logan finally glanced up, giving Wade a look that could melt adamantium. "Why do you care if I move out? Thought you'd be happy to get rid of me."

Wade opened his mouth to reply with something snarky, but the words caught in his throat. Why did he care? He hadn't thought about it before, hadn't really let himself think about it. But the truth was... he liked having Logan around. Liked knowing that someone was there, someone who wouldn't bail at the first sign of trouble. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Wade felt his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the leftover chimichangas he'd eaten for breakfast. What to say, what to say. Ah yes, divert the question.

"How are you planning to fund this new place anyhow?" Wade said, narrowing his eyes. "Did you start an OnlyFans? Fuck!" He threw his arms in the air. "I told you if you started an OnlyFans to let me know so I could be your first subscriber. Just imagine it--Fucking my number-one fan. Or wait! We could make snuff together. Plenty of sick perverts would pay top dollar, and we both get to keep our lives in the end."

"Wade-" Logan growled.

"Oh sweetness, I was just kidding but now I'm curious. Are you tickling your pickle online? Diddling your cinnamon donut hole--Ow, fuck!"

Wade's arm fell to the floor with a thud, and he glared up at Logan's slightly smug face. "Motherfucker. I already booked a family photo session for us. Now I'm just going to look ridiculous."

Logan laughed boisterously, eyes crinkling at the corners and shoulders shaking. Wade raised an eyebrow, or, well, what would be considered an eyebrow. "What the hell are you laughing about?"

Logan clutched his stomach, his laughter echoing through the room like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard—and maybe it was. Wade, looking absolutely murderous as he tried to reattach his severed arm, glared at Logan with the intensity of a thousand suns. But Logan just kept laughing, the sound raw and unrestrained, and...Well, actually it was kind of beautiful. He looked younger when he was smiling, less weathered. He had a pretty smile too, all straight, white teeth and dimples that sunk deep into his cheeks. 

"You're serious?" Logan managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter, his voice rough but tinged with genuine amusement. 

Wade rolled his eyes dramatically as he grabbed the detached arm, pressing it against his shoulder in hopes it would fuse back together. The process was annoyingly slow, especially with Logan wheezing like a dying hyena in the background. "Yes, Logan. I want to commemorate our beautiful, picture-perfect relationship for posterity. Something we can look back on with our children and say, 'Kids, look how handsome your daddies used to be before they got all old and tired from raising you little shits. Now run along Wade and Logina Jr. And remember when you are running with knives you need to keep the blade pointed down'--Fuck, you bastard!"

His other arm fell to the floor into the pool of blood that Mary Puppins was beginning to lick. Wade glared up at Logan, who was...startingly close now. Close enough that Wade could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint scent of whiskey and something earthy that was just so... Logan. Wade's heart did that annoying little flutter thing, like a bunch of butterflies were having intercourse in his heart valve. "Well, now you're going to have to be the one to hold Mary Puppins up in the photo," Wade said, sniffing. "And we both know you are never getting that smell out of your clothes."

"I'll live," Logan says, smirking as he walks off. 

---------------------------------

"You're moping."

Wade barely cracked an eye open at the sound of Logan's gravelly voice. "Am not," he muttered, shifting on the couch so that his back was to Logan. He subtly sniffed the rumpled pillow, the scent of blood, oil, and aftershave tickling his nostrils. If he had nose hairs, he figured they would be tickling, too, but unfortunately, the only hair he still had was the bits from his toupee. Logan kept throwing them away, but Wade was not afraid of a little bit of dumpster diving.

Logan snorted, and Wade could hear him rolling his eyes. "Could've fooled me. You've been lying there like a sack of shit for hours."

Wade groaned dramatically, rolling onto his back and stretching his arms over his head. "Maybe I'm just enjoying some well-deserved R&R. Did you need me for something? Daddy to take you for a walk in the park? Lapdance? Personal scratching post?"

Logan didn't rise to the bait, which only made Wade more irritated. He wasn't used to people seeing through his bullshit, and Logan was getting far too good at it. "You gonna tell me what's really eating you, or do I have to carve it out?"

Wade's eyes flicked open at that, meeting Logan's steady gaze across the room. "Do you actually care, or do you just want your couch back?"

Logan didn't answer right away, and for a moment, Wade thought maybe he'd finally managed to throw him off. But then Logan's gaze narrowed, his expression hardening just a fraction. "I'm not a total asshole, Bub," he said, his voice low and gruff.

Wade felt a twinge of something he couldn't quite name—annoyance, maybe, or something more uncomfortable like guilt. He sat up, swinging his legs off the couch and facing Logan fully. "Sure you aren't Peanut."

Logan's eyes didn't waver, didn't blink. He just watched Wade with that infuriating calmness, the kind that made Wade feel like he was the only one spiraling out of control. Wade wanted to argue, to crack a joke, to say something—anything—that would deflect from the way Logan's stare made him feel like he was under a microscope. But the words died in his throat, and all that came out was a quiet sigh. 

"So," Logan said, taking a sip of his coffee. He hadn't moved from his spot at the table, his laptop screen casting a dull glow over his face. "Spit it out."

Wade ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough texture of his scarred skin, the uneven ridges. "This whole... whatever this is. You and me, the apartment, the routine. It's been... nice," he said, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for Wade to get to the point. "And that's a bad thing?"

"No, it's not—well, maybe it is? I don't know!" Wade threw his hands up in frustration, his voice rising. "It's just... I'm not used to this, okay? I'm not used to things being... normal."

"We can't die. My bones are made of metal and I have claws that come out of my hands. Our roommate is addicted to cocaine and you inherited your dog because you killed your alternate self. Just yesterday you shot me in the arm because I switched the channel. I wouldn't exactly call that normal, would you?" Logan said gruffly, crossing his arms. 

Wade's lips twitched at Logan's words, a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Hey, I regret that that beautiful son of a bitch had to die, but it was necessary for the sake of the world," he said, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

Logan snorted in response. 

Wade watched the fan spin a few times before continuing. "But it's normal for us. You know what I mean."

Logan grunted, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "So what's the problem, Bub? You finally got something stable for once in your life, and it's making you twitchy?"

Wade didn't answer, choosing to pluck at the fraying edges of the couch where Logan's claws had snagged the fabric countless times. The same wear and tear followed Wade through the apartment--the curtains, the bath towels, the walls, even a few of the worn areas of Wade's suit. What would happen when Logan left? Would he eventually have to replace them, and watch as the remnants of the last four months faded into the back of his mind until he began to question if it ever happened to begin with? The more Wade thought about it, the more his chest tightened, the anxiety clawing its way up his throat.

Wade didn't like being alone. It was kind of his whole thing. Didn't matter who he was surrounding himself with; if they loved him or despised him, it didn't matter as long as they were they were there. Silence, true silence, was the one thing that could drive him insane. It's probably the thing that will kill him one day. Wade thrived on noise, on the presence of others—even if they hated his guts. He was the guy who'd talk just to fill the void, crack a joke even when no one was listening, because anything was better than being left alone with his own thoughts.

"Wade," Logan's voice cut through the silence, rough but with an edge of concern. "You're not answering the question."

Wade's hand stilled, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch a little too tightly. He didn't look up. "What's the point? You'll just leave eventually. It's what you do. It's what everybody does." He laughs a little too hard to be casual. 

Ha casual. Knee-deep in the passenger seat of that fucking Honda Odyssey, how fitting.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Wade sat up, throwing his arms in the air. "Nothing. Nothing! Oh my God." 

He stood up, planning on dramatically storming into his bedroom when he felt a hard grip on his bicep. Wade felt the pressure of Logan's hand like a vise around his arm, the grip strong enough to stop him in his tracks but not enough to hurt. It was a warning. "Let go," Wade snapped, trying to yank his arm free, but Logan held firm. The tension in the room crackled like electricity, and Wade could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Not until you tell me what the hell's going on," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that usually made people back off. But Wade was too wound up to back off, too full of all the things he didn't want to say. "You PMSing or something?"

Wade's eyes flashed with anger, the words striking a nerve he didn't even realize was exposed. He didn't know why it had upset him, or why that was his snapping point. Lord knows he has said ten times worse before. But for some reason, it's enough for him to turn around and punch Logan square in his beautiful face.

Logan's claws shot out, and Wade barely had time to react before he was throwing himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the swipe. He hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him, but he was on his feet in an instant, his own weapons drawn. He didn't have time to think, didn't have time to process what was happening—his body moved on autopilot, driven by adrenaline and the raw, unfiltered emotions that had been building up for weeks.

Logan came at him again, his movements quick and precise, but Wade was faster, ducking under Logan's arm and slashing at his side with the katana he had put under the counter. The blades sliced through fabric and skin, but Logan barely flinched, his healing factor already kicking in as he turned to face Wade again.

"You really want to do this, Bub? We all remember how it turned out last time" Logan snarled, his voice full of fury as he lunged forward.

Wade didn't hesitate, meeting Logan head-on with a vicious swing of his own. "Oh, baby, don't threaten me with a good time."

Logan growled, tackling Wade into the fridge. The fridge door dented under the force of their impact, the contents rattling inside as Wade let out a breathless laugh. "Oof, baby, didn't know you were into rough play," he quipped, even as he shoved Logan back with all his strength. Logan's eyes flashed with irritation, and he swung a fist at Wade's jaw, but Wade ducked, the punch glancing off his shoulder instead.

"Shut up, Wade," Logan snarled, his claws retracting just long enough to grab Wade by the collar and yank him close. "You want to fight? Fine. But don't think for a second I'm gonna go easy on you."

Wade grinned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I wouldn't have it any other way." With that, he twisted out of Logan's grip and delivered a sharp knee to Logan's ribs. The blow didn't do much damage, but it was enough to get Logan to loosen his hold.

Logan grunted, barely reacting to the hit, and immediately countered with an elbow to Wade's side, aiming for his liver. Wade felt the pain radiate through his body, but he didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he took advantage of the close quarters, wrapping his legs around Logan's waist and using the momentum to flip them both over, sending Logan crashing onto the kitchen floor.They landed in a tangled heap, Logan's claws extending once more as he slashed at Wade's side, cutting through his suit and skin. Wade hissed at the pain but he was already healing, the torn flesh knitting itself back together as he straddled Logan, pressing a forearm to the older man's throat.

"This is the best foreplay I've had in months!" Wade gasped, his voice a mix of exhilaration and mock desperation. Logan's eyes narrowed, and he brought his claws up again, aiming for Wade's neck.

Wade blocked the strike with one of his katanas, the metal clanging against Logan's claws. Sparks flew as they grappled, their faces inches apart. Wade could feel Logan's breath hot against his face, could see the raw anger burning in his eyes. But beneath that anger, there was something else—something more complicated that Wade couldn't quite name.

"You talk too much," Logan growled, shoving Wade off him with a powerful kick that sent him crashing into the kitchen table. The table shattered under Wade's weight, splintering into pieces as Wade rolled to his feet, a manic grin on his face.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta keep this sexual tension going!" Wade shot back, grabbing a chair leg and hurling it at Logan like a spear. Logan swatted it aside with ease, advancing on Wade with a deadly purpose in his eyes.

Wade met him head-on, their bodies colliding in a flurry of punches, kicks, and slashes. The kitchen quickly became a war zone, the walls and floor splattered with blood as they tore into each other with a vicious intensity. Wade's katanas clashed against Logan's claws, the sound of metal on metal filling the room as they fought like animals, neither willing to back down.

"Come on, Peanut!" Wade taunted, even as he ducked under a brutal swipe aimed at his head. "Is that all you've got? I've had worse from one of my foster homes!"

Logan didn't respond with words—he responded with a brutal stabbing into his head that left Wade seeing stars. Wade staggered back, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, but his body was too slow in piecing the bits of his brain back together. Logan tackled him again, this time driving them both into the living room, where they crashed through the coffee table in a shower of splinters.

Wade's back hit the floor with a painful thud, but he didn't have time to recover before Logan was on top of him, his claws poised to strike. Wade grabbed Logan's wrist just in time, holding the claws inches away from his throat. They struggled there, their bodies pressed together, each trying to gain the upper hand.

"Not... bad... for an old man..." Wade grunted, using every ounce of strength he had to keep Logan's claws at bay. He could feel Logan's breath on his face, could see the way Logan's chest heaved with exertion. 

"You really want to keep pushing me, Wade?" Logan's voice was a dangerous rumble, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else—something that sent a shiver down Wade's spine. "I've been good lately. Haven't touched a single hair on anybody's body which means I have a lot of pent-up rage to get out on you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Wade gasped, his grip slipping just a fraction. Logan took advantage of the momentary weakness, and before Wade could react, Logan's claws grazed his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

Wade's breath hitched, the pain sharp and immediate, but he couldn't stop the surge of excitement that came with it. "Ooh, right there, big guy. That's the spot!"

Logan's lip curled in a snarl, but instead of delivering the killing blow, he hesitated, his claws retracting slightly. It was only for a second, but it was enough for Wade to take control. With a burst of strength, he shoved Logan off him, rolling them over until Wade was the one on top.

"See? I knew you liked it rough," Wade panted, grinning down at Logan as he pinned his wrists to the floor. "You can't fool me, Wolvie. Deep down, you're just as fucked up as I am."

Logan glared up at him, but the fire in his eyes was tempered by something else—something that Wade hadn't seen before. "You don't know shit about me, Wade," Logan said, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade bent down to say something twice as vulgar but was stopped when he felt the press of something hard against his thigh. Wade's grin faltered. Logan didn't respond, but the tension between them shifted, the violent energy ebbing away as they stared at each other, breathing heavily. Wade's heart pounded in his chest, the reality of the fight—of everything—crashing down on him all at once.

Finally, Wade let out a shaky laugh, releasing Logan's wrists and rolling off him. He collapsed onto the floor beside Logan, staring up at the ceiling as his body began to heal, the pain receding into a dull throb.

Logan stayed where he was, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. Neither of them said anything, and for a split second, they just lay there, breathing heavily, blood dripping from various wounds that were already beginning to heal.

------------------------------------------

"Everybody gets boners. I would know. I get them all the time. Hell,  I have one right now. But what does that mean, right? Because the last time this happened, it was in that godforsaken Honda Odyssey, and those seats went allll the way back if you know what I mean."

If Wade had a nickel for every time he and Logan got into a fight that was a heavy prelude for sex he would have two nickels, but it's weird that it happened twice, right? 

"Logan's got that 'I'm gonna kick your ass and then do unspeakable things to you' vibe. Totally sexy. Hot. I'm into it, right? It's like our fights are just foreplay with a few punches and kicks thrown in for good measure. But here's the thing. Sometimes I get super nauseous after the fight, and it's not because Freddy Kreuger was in my guts in all the wrong ways. Like I'm actually upset that he's moving out which is ha, crazy because really I should be happy to be getting my couch back. I did all my best masturbating there."

Wade falls back into the seat, twirling baby knife around on his fingers. "What do you think? Is he queerbaiting me? It would make sense. Disney is a huge fan of dangling diversity in our faces and ripping it away."

Dopindor turned around in his seat, beaming widely at Wade. "Mr.Deadpool sir, I just want to start by saying that I am honored that I am the one you have chosen to confide in. It means a lot to me, truly, to be entrusted with something so deeply personal. But, um..." Dopinder hesitated, his smile faltering slightly as he searched for the right words. "Has Mr. Logan ever, uh, flirted with you outside of those... you know, those, uh, two boner situations?"

Wade blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Outside of the boner situations? Uh, let me think..." He scrunched up his face, genuinely trying to recall any instance that might qualify. "Well, there was that one time he called me an 'annoying little dickwad whose only purpose of living was to annoy the fuck out of him.' And then that other time he told me to 'get the hell out of his way before he  gives me a new hole to shit out of.'  I thought it was kinda sexy, but I don't think he meant it that way."

Dopinder's smile became more strained, and he nodded slowly. "Right, so... I don't mean to burst your bubble, DP, but, uh, that doesn't really sound like flirting. It actually sounds more like... he might just, um, tolerate you. Maybe he likes the fights, but, uh, not in the way you're hoping."

Wade's expression dropped, the twirling baby knife slowing to a stop. "So, you're saying Logan's not playing hard to get? He's just... hard and not interested?" He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his head back dramatically. "And here I was, thinking we were in the middle of some slowburn romance novel. 'Deadpool and Wolverine: Getting My Claws Into You.'"

Dopinder's eyes widened slightly, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he tried to find the right response. "Well, sir, you're definitely not delusional—"

"Stop it, Dopinder," Wade interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "I know delusion when I see it. It's just, I thought maybe, just maybe, Logan was giving me the ol' 'I hate you so much that I actually want to do naughty things to you' routine. But if he's not... then what am I supposed to do with all this pent-up sexual frustration? I mean, I could always just take it out on you, but that seems unfair. You're not exactly my type."

Dopinder cleared his throat, clearly flustered. "Oh, no, no, I'm more than happy being your loyal driver and friend! And, um, I think maybe you're focusing too much on Logan's, uh, vibes. Maybe he's just... I don't know, a grumpy and violent man who enjoys fighting you because it's fun for him. Not because he wants to, um, do anything else."

Wade tilted his head, considering Dopinder's words. "Huh. So, you're saying I might just be projecting all this unresolved sexual tension onto Logan because I can't handle the fact that maybe, just maybe, he's just not that into me?"

Dopinder nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Exactly! Maybe you're reading too much into it. Sometimes a fight is just a fight, and not everything has to lead to, um, the other thing."

Wade slumped back in his seat, pouting. "That's no fun. I like it better when everything leads to the other thing." He sighed, glancing out the window. "Guess I'll have to find some other poor soul to beat me up and then make out with me. Maybe Spider-Man? He's got that whole 'awkward nerd' thing going on. Could be hot."

Dopinder, sensing the shift in mood, gave a nervous chuckle. He hesitated before finally speaking up. "Um, DP... not that this conversation hasn't been fun, and I always appreciate our talks, but, uh, don't you have a... mission to be doing?"

Wade blinked, momentarily thrown off by the reminder. "Oh, right! The mission. My money!" He sat up straight, suddenly energized as if the earlier melancholy had never existed. "How could I forget? Priorities, Deadpool, priorities!"

He reached for the door handle, but paused, turning back to lean into the car. "Raincheck on the payment? You understand, right? What with what I'm going through and all." Wade's expression was an exaggerated mix of puppy-dog eyes and over-the-top sorrow.

Dopinder sighed, clearly torn between wanting to support his idol and knowing he was likely never going to see that money. But how could he say no to Deadpool? With a resigned smile, he held up his hand for a high five. "Fine."

Wade slapped his hand with a grin, hopping out of the car. "You're the best, Dopinder! I don't care what anyone says!"

"What-"

Wade gave him a mock salute, then turned on his heel, striding away with all the confidence of a man who was about to fuck up some serious shit.

---------------------

"So..."

Logan rifled through the cabinets, making a noise of what could only be excitement when he found the rubbing alcohol Wade had kept hidden in the back. He snagged it from the shelf, licking his lips as he popped the lid and began to chug it to Wade's disdain. Finally, Logan lowered the bottle, his lips glistening with the remnants of the alcohol. He let out a contented sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned to face Wade, who was now staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You know, that stuff's not gonna give you a buzz, right?" Wade said, still trying to process what he'd just witnessed. "I mean, I'm all for weird shit, but this is next-level."

Logan smirked, his expression completely unfazed. "Not about the buzz, Bub. It's about the burn." His voice was gravelly, the kind of tone that sent shivers down Wade's spine. Logan tossed the empty bottle onto the counter, leaning back against it with a satisfied grunt.

"So..." Wade began again, cocking his head to the side and kicking his feet back and forth where they dangled from the barstool. "Are we going to talk about that little situation that happened last week? Well, definitely not little. Like, holy fuck, did you stuff a coke bottle in your pants or what?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "There wasn't a situation," His voice was low, almost a warning, but Wade was never one to back down.

"You know, you can admit it. We're all friends here." Wade's tone was teasing, but there was a genuine undercurrent of curiosity. "I'm not saying you have to confess your undying love or anything. But if you're gonna keep popping boners every time we throw down, we might need to have a little chat about boundaries. Or not—honestly, I'm kind of into it."

Logan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might lunge at Wade, pin him to the wall, and shut him up the only way he knew how—through sheer physical force. But instead, he took a step back, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wade hopped off the barstool, landing lightly on his feet as he approached Logan, his expression softening slightly. "Look, Peanut, I'm not trying to make this weird. Okay, that's a lie, I'm always trying to make things weird. But I was talking to Dopindor-"

"You were talking to Dopindor," Logan interjects sarcastically. 

"-and he said that maybe you just like to fight with me because it's fun," Wade continued, ignoring Logan's sarcastic tone. "And I get it, I mean, who wouldn't enjoy a good ol' tussle with yours truly? But here's the thing—I think there's more to it. You don't just get all... excited like that because of a fight. Unless you're into some really weird stuff, which, hey, no judgment, but this feels different."

"So you're basing all of this on a conversation with fucking Dopinder?" He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "You really are out of your mind, Bub."

Wade shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe. But you didn't deny it Buttercup."

Logan clenched his jaw, clearly frustrated. "Deny what? That I like fighting? That I get a rush from it? Hell, everyone knows that. It's what I do."

Wade took another step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Yeah, but not everyone gets a hard-on from it, Princess Sparkle Tits. Not like that. And definitely not with me. So, what gives? You're telling me there's nothing going on here?"

Logan's gaze snapped back to Wade's. "I fight you because you can take it. Because I know you'll get back up, no matter how hard I hit you, no matter what vital organ I stab. It's adrenaline."

Wade studied Logan's face, searching for any hint of doubt, any sign that he was lying to himself as much as he was to Wade. But Logan's expression was guarded, his walls firmly in place.

"Adrenaline," Wade repeated, his tone more subdued. "You think it's adrenaline?"

Logan's gaze bore into Wade, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. "What do you want me to say, Bub? That you're right? That I got a fuckin' boner because I'm into you? You think that's what this is?"

"Marvel H. Christ, I'm not saying you're like in L-O-V-E with me or anything!" Wade threw his arms up into the air. "All I'm asking is it such a bad thing to admit you might want to bone me?"He paced around the small space, hands gesticulating wildly as he continued, "I mean, let's be real here. With my suit on, I'm at least a solid seven, maybe an eight on a good day. And don't even get me started on my hairless wonderland. I've got a smooth, sleek body like a wet seal. Pour some oil on me and baby let it rip. And my ass? It's like a ripe, juicy peach. Perfect to take a bite out of, or open it up and lick around until you find the pit-"

Before Wade could finish, Logan closed the distance between them in a flash, grabbing Wade by the collar and yanking him forward. Their faces were inches apart, Logan's breath hot against Wade's skin. "You talk too much," Logan growled.

Wade's heart raced, but he kept his trademark grin firmly in place. "And you, my little alcoholic, are in denial. We can keep our socks on. We can do it in the dark if you want, and you can pretend I'm your sweet little Jean-"

And those are Logan's claws in his neck. 

Blood gushes around his fingers as he slides them out of Wade's arteries. He wipes the blood off on Wade's t-shirt, and then storms out of the apartment. 

----------------------------------------

The next two months were a special kind of hell, the kind that could only be crafted by a fanfiction writer who is really trying to emphasize the enemies in enemies to lovers.

Logan didn't say a word about what had happened. Hell, they barely spoke at all. The atmosphere in the apartment was so thick with tension, you could cut it with Logan's claws.

Logan spent most of his time out, supposedly looking for a place of his own, but Wade knew better. The old man was avoiding him, plain and simple. When they did cross paths, it was always awkward. Logan would grunt something that might've been a greeting, and Wade would reply with some smartass comment. Neither of them mentioned the incident. Neither of them apologized.

Wade couldn't stop thinking about it, though. The look in Logan's eyes, the anger, the... arousal? Wade wasn't sure. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination, but for once, he couldn't joke it away. Instead, he threw himself into his work. Lucky for him, being Deadpool meant there was always a new job, a new target, a new distraction from the weirdmageddon at home.

The mercenary life was business as usual. A quick trip to the slums to intimidate a creepy ex-boyfriend, a few days in Manhattan dealing with some petty thugs who thought they could take on the big leagues, and an all-expenses-paid vacation to Madripoor (Thanks X-Men) to eliminate some supervillain trying to make it in Marvel's new movies. The usual blood, guts, and banter, with Wade doing his best to forget that his living situation was a ticking time bomb.

And then there was Vanessa. Sweet, beautiful Vanessa, who was supposed to be his one shot at a normal life—whatever the hell that meant. Except now, she was moving on, like he had always feared she would. He'd been invited to her wedding, which was just the universe's way of twisting the knife. She'd even sent him a formal invitation, like he was some ex she barely knew, instead of the man who'd once died for her. 

Wade didn't know how to feel about it. On one hand, he was happy for her. She deserved happiness, and if her new guy could give her that, then who was Wade to stand in the way? On the other hand... well, it sucked. It sucked in ways that Wade couldn't even put into words, not that he'd try. His usual coping mechanisms—jokes, violence, chimichangas, sex (which was most certainly not happening)—weren't cutting it.

Days turned into weeks, and Wade found himself in a routine that felt more like a prison sentence. He'd wake up, avoid Logan, go out on a job, come back, and avoid Logan some more. The few times he did catch Logan at home, the guy was either nursing a bottle of whiskey or pretending to be asleep. They were two grown men, each too proud (or too stupid) to talk about what had happened.

But he let the tension simmer, hoping that one day, it might just boil over. Because then they could have it out, scream at each other, bleed each other dry, and finally get whatever this was out in the open. Or maybe it would end in more blood, and Wade wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing anymore

---------------------------

Wade was staring at the RSVP card in his hand, the one that Vanessa had sent along with the wedding invitation. It had been sitting on the kitchen counter for over a week, taunting him every time he walked by. There were two simple boxes to check: "Attending" or "Regrets." But it was the line beneath that made him hesitate: Will you be bringing a plus one?

Wade glanced over at Logan, who was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV but clearly not watching it. The guy was as broody as ever, the silence between them now an old companion. Wade wondered, for a brief, insane moment, what would happen if he asked Logan to go with him. As his plus one.

Then again, there was the little issue of Logan nearly slicing his throat open the last time things got heated. Probably not the best foundation for a wedding date. He'd be lucky if Logan didn't skewer him just for bringing it up.

With a heavy sigh, Wade picked up a pen and stared at the RSVP card. His hand hovered over the boxes, indecision freezing him in place. "Attending" or "Regrets"? Did it even matter? It wasn't like Vanessa was expecting much from him at this point. Hell, she probably sent the invitation out of some misguided sense of obligation, a way to tie up loose ends before she started her new life.

Will you be bringing a plus one?

He scribbled a messy "X" in the "Attending" box, then hesitated again. His gaze flicked to the "plus one" line. 

What if he wrote Logan's name? Just to see the look on Logan's face when he found out? Wade grinned at the thought, but it quickly faded. Logan wouldn't find it funny. He'd probably pack his bags and finally leave, and Wade wasn't ready for that.

So instead, Wade left the line blank, tossed the card aside to ponder over later, and leaned back in his chair. The apartment was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made your thoughts echo in your head. He hated it.

Couldn't stand it. The silence, the unspoken words, the constant avoidance. It was driving him insane. And since being quiet wasn't exactly his style, he decided to bite the bullet and just... talk. 

He walked over to where Logan was sitting, plopping down on the arm of the couch, too close for comfort. Logan's eyes flicked up at him, a warning in their depths, but Wade ignored it. 

"So," Wade began, his voice casual like they hadn't been playing this awkward game of silent chicken for weeks. "I got this wedding invite."

Logan grunted, clearly uninterested, but Wade pressed on. "Vanessa's. Which you knew. She's getting hitched, for real this time, and she actually had the audacity to invite little ol' me." He laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. 

Logan didn't respond, his attention still on the TV, but Wade wasn't about to let that stop him. "She even asked if I'd bring a plus one. Can you believe that? Like I have a date lined up or something."

There was a flicker of something in Logan's expression, but it was gone too quickly for Wade to read. He hesitated, then decided to just go for it. "Anyway, I was thinking... since you're still crashing here, and we've got all this unresolved sexual tension—"

Logan's eyes narrowed, but Wade pushed through. "—how 'bout it? Wanna be my plus one? You know, make it real awkward for everyone? We can skip the ceremony, show up drunk to the reception, and fuck on one of the elderly guests tables. It'll be fun."

Logan finally turned his head to look at Wade, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Wade wondered if he'd gone too far, if Logan was about to grab him by the collar again or, worse, shut down completely. But instead, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied Wade with that intense gaze that always made him feel like Logan was looking right through him.

"I was already invited, dipshit," Logan said, his voice gruff but steady.

Wade blinked, taken aback. "Wait, what?"

Logan stood up, brushing past Wade as he headed for the door. "Got my invite a while ago," he said over his shoulder. "Didn't think it was worth mentioning."

Wade watched him, stunned into silence for once in his life. Of all the things he'd expected Logan to say, that wasn't one of them. 

"Wait," Wade called out as Logan reached for the door handle. "You serious?"

Logan paused, glancing back at him. "Guess you'll have to find someone else to be your plus one, Bubba."

Before Wade could respond, Logan opened the door and stepped out, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts—and the quiet, empty apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, and Wade sat there, processing what had just happened. "Well, shit," he muttered to himself.

-------------------------------------------------

The day of Vanessa's wedding arrived faster than Wade would have liked. 

Logan had been unusually quiet all morning, which only made things more unbearable. He'd barely said two words to Wade since they woke up, and now they were getting ready in the cramped bathroom of Wade's apartment, the silence between them heavy and oppressive. Wade stood in front of the mirror, fussing with his tie. He'd opted for a classic black suit, something simple and understated, though he couldn't resist adding a red pocket square for a touch of flair. As he fumbled with the knot, he caught Logan's reflection in the mirror. The older man was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, already dressed in his own suit—a dark, tailored number that fit him perfectly, accentuating his rugged, muscular frame. He had rejected Wade's suggestion to add a yellow pocket square, stating that that was too on the nose which, yes, fair. 

Wade couldn't help but stare. He'd seen Logan in all sorts of states—bloodied, bruised, half-naked, fully naked, pissed off, and occasionally looking downright feral. But this? This was something different. The man cleaned up way too well, and Wade was having a hard time processing the sight before him.

Logan looked... sharp. That was the word for it. The dark suit was tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist in a way that made Wade wonder if the tailor was still alive or if Logan had murdered them for getting a little too handsy. The fabric draped over his muscular frame like it had been designed with only him in mind, and the crisp white shirt beneath it was unbuttoned just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of the chest hair that Wade had become intimately familiar with. 

His hair, usually a wild mess, was slicked back with that pomade Wade couldn't stop sniffing, giving him an almost dangerous edge. It made Logan's chiseled features stand out even more—the sharp line of his jaw, the steely glint in his eyes, and that mouth... Fuck, that mouth. Wade's eyes drifted there, lingering on the way Logan's lips were set in that usual scowl, lips that Wade had become increasingly fixated on. It was a scowl that promised violence but also hinted at something else, something darker, more primal. 

Wade's thoughts began to spiral, his mind going to places that were anything but appropriate for the occasion. As much as he tried to focus on the task at hand—tying his goddamn tie—his brain kept serving up images of Logan pressed up against him, all that pent-up energy unleashed in the form of rough hands, sharp teeth, and the kind of passion that left bruises in its wake. He could almost feel the weight of Logan's body pinning him against a wall, could almost hear the low growl that would rumble from Logan's chest as he claimed Wade's mouth in a bruising kiss. Wade's mind raced with scenarios, each one more explicit than the last, each one involving Logan losing that damn suit in increasingly creative ways.

Logan shifted slightly on the edge of the bathtub, and Wade's eyes followed the movement like a predator tracking its prey. The way the fabric of Logan's pants stretched across his thighs, the way his muscles flexed beneath the suit, the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against his leg—it was all too much. Wade swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in his belly, trying to focus on anything but the way Logan's presence filled the room, overwhelming his senses.

"Fuck are you looking at, Bub?" Logan's voice cut through the silence, rough and laced with just the faintest hint of amusement.

Wade jolted, realizing he'd been caught staring.  He yanked on his tie a little too hard, nearly choking himself in the process. 

Logan's lips twitched, just barely. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close enough to make Wade's heart do that annoying flutter thing again. 

Wade forced himself to focus on the mirror again, tearing his gaze away from Logan before he did something stupid—like launching himself across the room and kissing the life out of the guy. "Can't help it if you're a fucking distraction," Wade muttered, more to himself than to Logan, managing to get the tie somewhat presentable, though he was pretty sure Logan could tie a better knot with his eyes closed. He adjusted the red pocket square, trying to give himself something to do with his hands that didn't involve reaching for Logan.

"You know," he said, "I have to admit, you look pretty damn good in a suit. I mean, it's no Wolverine's suit, and it's not like I didn't know you were built like a tank, but damn... who knew you cleaned up so well?"

Logan glanced up from where he was sitting, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Wade's gaze in the mirror. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Bub."

"Too late," Wade leered. "Why don't you stand up and do a twirl for me, Princess?"

Snikt

"Woah, hey! No! No," Wade turned around, holding his hands out in front of him. Logan's claws glinted under the fluorescent lights menacingly as he glared up at him. "Usually I'm up for a little bit of foreplay, but we're under strict instructions that the claws need to stay away today. If she sees even a speck of blood on either of us, she is going to lose her shit."

Logan's claws retracted with a swift snikt, and he leveled a disapproving look at Wade, who was still standing with his hands up in a defensive posture. "Then, maybe you shouldn't say things that make me want to stab you."

"I flirt when I'm nervous," Wade quipped, crossing his arms. "It's not every day the love of your life gets married to someone else."

Logan gives him a flat look. 

"Right, my bad. We can trauma bond about it later, say over dinner?" He reaches under the sink, pulling out the newest toupee—one of his more elegant wigs, this time a nearly identical replica of Nicepool's long locks.

Logan stared at the toupee, then back at Wade with a look of exasperation. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're actually wearing that?"

Wade grinned, holding the toupee up like a trophy. "Oh, come on. It's her big day. Nobody wants to see a walking scrotum sitting at the bar."

He plopped it onto his head, ignoring Logan's winces as he stapled it firmly to his head. He spins in a circle, posing a few times for Logan. "How do I look?"

"Horrifying."

"More or less than usual?" 

Logan didn't answer, his face crinkling into one of disgust. Wade spun back to face the mirror, rearranging the wig in the way he remembered Nicepool wore his--may he rest in peace--eyes flickering between his own reflection and Logan's as he watched him. Finally, feeling satisfied with his appearance, he turned around and clapped his hands. "Ready to rock and roll?"

Logan didn't move, choosing to sit there and just stare at him like he had something completely batshit crazy. His hands tightened around his thighs, white-knuckling the dark fabric. "How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.

Wade glanced up, confused. "Do what? The wig? I mean, sure, I watched a lot of tutorials, but really it's all in the quality-" 

"No," Logan interrupted, his tone sharper than usual. "I mean, how do you just...watch the love of your life get married to someone else?"

Wade was silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on the claw mark through the shower curtain. Hm. What fight caused that? He took a deep breath. "Well...when you love someone, when you really, truly love someone, it doesn't really matter who they end up with. Even if it isn't you, you're happy because they're happy." Wade shrugged, "And I think deep down, I knew it was never going to be me. People like her, good people, they don't end up with guys like me. They end up with the good guy."

"You are a good guy," Logan said sternly, startling Wade out of his half-reverie. "Annoying as fuck, a goddamn pervert, but you are a good guy."

Wade laughed softly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm really, really not."

Logan shook his head, stepping closer. "You saved the world for her. For your family. For everybody. You took me in, even though I'm a dick, and I'm 'grumpy' and I'm an alcoholic, and we nearly kill each other every day. When I was nothing but...when I was just nothing to anybody. When I was the 'worst' Wolverine, you didn't give a fuck what I had to say or what anyone else had to say. You told me I'm the best Wolverine. Even when I wasn't. When I haven't been."

Logan poked a thick finger into his chest. "You. Are. A. Good. Guy. Wade Wilson. Fuck her."

"Logan," Wade began slowly, "I've done a lot of things. Some of them... well, let's just say if there's a line, I've not only crossed it, I've stomped it into the ground and done a little tap dance on it."

Logan's expression didn't change, his gaze steady as he waited for Wade to continue.

"I saved the world, but I also destroyed a lot of it in the process. I killed people. People who didn't deserve it, who were just... there. Wrong place, wrong time. And every time I do something good, it's like there's this... tally board, and all those bad things I've done, they just get louder, like they're reminding me of who I really am. Of what I am."

Logan stepped even closer, closing the gap between them, his presence solid and grounding. "You think I don't know what that's like? To be haunted by what you've done? Hell, Wade, I've been carrying that weight for longer than I care to remember. But that doesn't define us. You saved the world not because you were trying to erase your past, but because you wanted to make a future for people you care about. That's what matters."

"Why do you even care? Why are you trying so hard to convince me that I'm worth something?" Wade shot back, poking his chest. "Why does it matter to you so much?"

Logan leaned in closer, and Wade had to resist the urge to pull away from him, pull away from his minty breath and his clenched teeth and those steak knives he called claws. "Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?"

Wade's breath hitched, his brain short-circuiting as Logan's words hung in the air between them. 

His pulse quickened, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something stupid, like closing the distance and finding out exactly how Logan's lips would feel pressed against his. He could imagine it so clearly, the way Logan's hands would grip his arms—tight enough to leave bruises, to hold him in place—and the way those clawed fingers would curl into his flesh, leaving marks that would fade almost as soon as they appeared.

He wanted to push Logan, to see how far he could go before the older man snapped. He wanted to feel Logan's rough hands on his skin, to have him take out all that pent-up frustration on him in the most primal way possible. Wade's thoughts drifted to what it would be like to be under Logan, to have him growling his name, those low, guttural sounds that Wade had only ever heard when Logan was pissed off or in the middle of a fight.

But as much as Wade wanted to give in to those thoughts, he knew better. He knew that if he pushed too far, if he acted on the urge that was currently making it hard to think straight, he'd be risking everything. Whatever this was between them, it was fragile, and Wade wasn't sure if it could survive if he crossed that line.

So instead, Wade did what he always did—he deflected. He forced a smirk onto his face, even though his heart was pounding in his chest, and tried to push the thoughts of Logan's lips, Logan's hands, Logan's everything, out of his mind.

"Wow, Wolvie," Wade said, his voice coming out a little more breathless than he intended. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me. You trying to get in my pants or something? Because, fair warning, I'm a cheap date—I'll put out after a few kind words and maybe a well-placed claw or two."

Logan's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Wade thought he saw something flash in them—something dark and dangerous that made his stomach do a weird flip. But then Logan just huffed, shaking his head like Wade was a particularly annoying puzzle he couldn't figure out. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Logan growled, but there was no real bite behind it.

Wade shrugged, trying to keep it casual even though his thoughts were anything but. "It's part of my charm. But seriously, Logan, if you're not trying to seduce me, you're doing a terrible job of convincing me otherwise. I mean, you're practically on top of me right now. A guy could get the wrong idea."

Logan's eyes flicked down to where their chests were almost touching, and for a brief moment, Wade thought he saw his resolve waver. But then Logan took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them, and the moment was gone.

Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?

Wade cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension."Well, uh, glad we got all of that mushy stuff out of the way," Wade stammered, his usual bravado faltering. "Blech, gross. We better get, uh... going. Yeah, going."

Logan didn't respond right away, his intense gaze still locked on Wade. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he'd said something wrong. He was about to crack another joke, something to diffuse the weirdness, when Logan took a step closer.

Wade froze, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Then, without warning, Logan reached out.

He flinched, closing his eyes instinctively, expecting the familiar snikt of Logan's claws, the sharp pain that usually followed their arguments. But instead of the expected slice of adamantium, Logan's fingers brushed against Wade's tie, deftly undoing the mess Wade had made and re-tying it with practiced ease. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost intimate, and Wade had to resist the urge to lean into it, to close the distance between them and— 

"There," Logan said, stepping back, his voice low and steady. "Now you don't look like you've been strangled by your own tie."

Wade's eyes flickered to Logan's lips, lingering there for a fraction of a second longer than he intended. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his pulse racing as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Logan's hand didn't immediately pull away after fixing the tie; instead, he ran it down the front of Wade's shirt, smoothing out the fabric with deliberate care. Wade couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this—so gently, so attentively. Wade's breath caught in his throat as Logan's fingers trailed over his shirt, the contact both unsettling and electrifying. He was close, so close that Wade could count the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, could feel the roughness of his calloused hands against his chest. Wade blinked, realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Thanks," he managed to say, though it came out more like a croak.

Logan's hand finally left his chest, but the warmth of his touch lingered, leaving Wade feeling oddly exposed. Before he could say anything, Logan was already turning away, heading for the door. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Don't want to be late."

Wade stood there, rooted to the spot.

Thumpthump

Thumpthump

Thumpthump

With one last glance at the door Logan had just walked through, Wade sighed. "What the actual fuck?"

---------------------------------

Wade shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden pew. His suit felt tight, constricting—like it was trying to suffocate him in the most stylish way possible. And seriously, who thought it was a good idea to trap a bunch of people in formal wear inside a stuffy old church? It was practically a death sentence for someone with as much raw sexual energy as him. The vows were all about love, commitment, and blah blah blah—like these two weren't about to start arguing over who left the toilet seat up or whose turn it was to take out the trash as soon as the honeymoon phase wore off. Wade was tempted to shout, "Run while you still can!" but he didn't want to be responsible for ruining the wedding, especially not when Vanessa was watching him like a hawk.

She'd probably kill him before the groom even had the chance.

Wade's thoughts flickered to Vanessa again, his heart doing that annoying thing where it clenched a little too tight in his chest. He still loved her, didn't he? She was beautiful, smart, and probably the only person who actually tolerated his bullshit daily.

Then again...

He glanced over at Logan again, because apparently, self-torture was his new hobby. Logan's eyes were fixed on the couple at the altar, his expression unreadable, as usual. But Wade could see the way his jaw was clenched, the slight tension in his shoulders, and yeah, it was doing things to him. Like making him wonder if maybe—just maybe—he wanted Logan to look at him with that same intensity.

Logan's jaw was clenched so tight it could crack walnuts. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, but his eyes... there was something in his eyes as he watched the couple exchange vows that made Wade's stomach do somersaults. The intensity, the way Logan was completely focused on them, like he was imagining himself in that position.

But this wasn't about him. Not today. Wade had to remind himself that Vanessa was the one he was supposed to care about, the one he'd been infatuated with for longer than he cared to admit. Logan was just... a confusing detour in Wade's headspace. A very, very distracting detour with a gruff voice and a tendency to make Wade feel things he didn't want to feel.

The ceremony finally reached its climax—thank God—and the newlyweds kissed to the sound of applause and cheers. Wade joined in, clapping a little too enthusiastically because if he didn't do something with his hands, he was going to lose his mind. The whole room seemed to explode with joy, people hugging, crying, and congratulating each other, and Wade felt like he was watching it all from behind a glass wall. 

The reception was being held in a fancy-ass tent in the churchyard, complete with chandeliers, flowers everywhere, and enough booze to make even the most skeptical guest believe in true love, if only for a night. Wade was immediately drawn to the open bar, but Vanessa intercepted him before he could make a beeline for the alcohol. 

 Wade stared at Vanessa, at the elegant lines of her dress, and at the way her hair framed her face. She looked perfect, like a dream he'd once had—a dream he'd tried to make real. For a brief moment, he let himself get lost in the fantasy, the one where he was the one slipping that dress off her shoulders later tonight. He imagined their wedding day, the one they'd never had, where he stood beside her at the altar, vowing to love and cherish her until death do them part.

Only in Wade's version of things, it didn't go quite so smoothly. He knew, deep down, that if they had gotten married, the honeymoon phase would have worn off quickly. They would have grown sick of each other, like two feral cats trapped in a room with no escape. Wade's sarcasm would have grated on her nerves, and Vanessa's patience would have worn thin..He could see it now: the slow decline of their relationship, the love they once had eroding away like a sandcastle being eaten by the tide. Wade would have retreated into his bad habits, using humor as a shield to hide the pain, and Vanessa would have eventually realized that he wasn't the man she needed him to be. The end would have been inevitable—a messy, painful divorce that left them both worse off than before.

Or the other version of events, the one where he never became Deadpool. The one where he stayed with Vanessa after he found out about the cancer, trying to live out the time he had left, pretending that everything would be okay. They would have gone through with the wedding because that's what people in love do when they know their time is limited. They would have smiled for the photos, cut the cake, and danced the night away, all while a ticking clock hung over their heads, counting down the minutes until Wade's body gave out.

He imagined Vanessa sitting beside him in a sterile hospital room, holding his hand as he wasted away, his body betraying him piece by piece. He'd lose his hair, his strength, his ability to crack jokes without feeling like his chest was being crushed by an invisible weight. And Vanessa, God bless her, would have stayed by his side, wiping away her tears and pretending that she wasn't terrified of losing him. But in the end, he would have died, leaving her with nothing but memories of what could have been.

There was no happy ending for them. Not in this life. Not in any life.

Wade swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. "Vanessa, I—" He hesitated, unsure of what to say. What did one say to the love of their life when they were now married to someone else? "I'm happy for you," he finally managed, his voice rougher than he intended. "You look...incredible."

Vanessa's eyes softened at Wade's words, and she reached out to touch his arm gently, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. "Thank you, Wade," she said quietly. "That means a lot."

Wade forced a grin, though it felt like it was cracking his face in half. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I've only got so much sincerity in me before I start breaking out in hives."

Vanessa's smile was warm, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I-I wasn't sure you'd actually show up today," She confessed.

Ouch

Wade shifted on his feet, feeling like the floor beneath him might give way at any second. He'd faced down armed mercenaries, survived being blown to bits, and even dealt with the constant chatter in his own head, but this—standing in front of Vanessa in her wedding dress—was something else entirely. It was like staring into the sun, knowing it would burn him alive but unable to look away.

"Yeah, well, surprises are kinda my thing," Wade said, trying to keep his tone light, even though it felt like his chest was being crushed in a vice. "Besides, wouldn't miss seeing you tie the knot with Perfect Craig for anything. Real good jawline. Probably gets that shit chiseled by angels. What's his secret? Botox? Ozempic?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Devil's dandruff?"

Vanessa laughed softly, but the sound was tinged with something bittersweet. She glanced over her shoulder at Craig, who was surrounded by well-wishers, laughing and shaking hands like he'd just won a Nobel Prize for Being Fucking Awesome. Wade followed her gaze, trying not to let the jealousy gnaw too hard at his insides.

"He's a good guy, Wade," Vanessa said, her voice gentle like she was trying to convince him—or maybe herself. "He's everything I needed after...well, after everything, you know?."

Wade nodded, his eyes still locked on Craig, who was talking animatedly with someone across the room. "Yeah, I can see that. He's got that whole 'not a murderous lunatic' vibe going for him. Definitely an upgrade."

Vanessa's hand tightened on his arm, and he finally tore his gaze away from Craig to look at her. There was something in her eyes—something that made his heart stutter in his chest. Regret, maybe? Or just the weight of everything that had come between them? Wade wasn't sure.

"I never wanted things to end the way they did," Vanessa whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you, Wade."

Wade swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat from turning into full-blown tears. This wasn't the time for that. He was Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, not some lovesick fool who cried at weddings. But damn if seeing Vanessa like this didn't make him want to break every rule he'd set for himself.

"You didn't hurt me," Wade said, his voice softer now, more honest than he intended. "I mean, you did, but... I hurt myself more by letting you go, by pushing you away. And now, look at you," He held her at arm's length, gaze sweeping up and down. "You're happy. You deserve that."

Vanessa's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, Wade thought she might break down right there in front of him. But she didn't. She just nodded, blinking rapidly as she fought to keep her composure.

"I want you to be happy too, Wade," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I want you to find someone who can give you what you need, who can make you feel...whole."

Happy. The word felt foreign in his mouth, like something he wasn't supposed to touch.

Wade forced a chuckle, though it came out more like a choked gasp. "Yeah, well, you know me. I'm more of a jigsaw puzzle that's missing half the pieces. My half was probably chewed up, swallowed by a dog. Probably in a doggy bag somewhere."

Vanessa's breath hitched, and for a moment, Wade thought she might cry. But she didn't. Instead, she reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the rough, scarred skin that he hated so much. 

Wade closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for just a second, savoring the warmth and softness of her hand against his cheek. Then he pulled back, forcing a smile that he knew didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a moment of silence between them, a moment where everything they weren't saying hung in the air like a thick fog. Wade wanted to say more, to tell her how much she'd meant to him, how much he wished things could have been different. But this wasn't the time or place, and maybe it never would be.

"You'll be okay, Wade. I know you will," she told him, eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

"Of course, I will," Wade said, injecting as much confidence as he could muster into his voice. "I'm Wade fucking Wilson. I bounce back from everything. Except maybe disco. That shit leaves scars."

Vanessa's smile was soft, and for a moment, Wade could almost believe that everything would be okay. That he could move on, find someone else, and maybe even be happy again. But as he watched her turn away and walk back toward Craig, hand in hand, the reality of it all hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was letting her go. For real this time.

And as much as it hurt, as much as it made him want to scream and punch something until his knuckles bled, Wade knew it was the right thing to do. Vanessa deserved the world, and if he couldn't give it to her, then at least Craig could. The perfect, fucking flawless bastard.

--------------------------

The bar was set up with a dazzling array of top-shelf liquors and cocktails that would have made even the most discerning drinker drool. Not that Wade could get drunk—his healing factor made sure of that. But that didn't stop him from grabbing a drink if only to have something to occupy his hands and maybe distract himself from the ache in his chest. He poured himself a double shot of whiskey, the amber liquid swirled around the glass like liquid gold. He held the shot to his lips, gulping it down before slamming it on the counter.

"You know you can't drink your way out of feeling like shit, right?" 

Wade rolled his eyes, turning in his seat to face the man to his right. And there he was, standing with arms crossed, his trademark scowl in place as if he'd just smelled something that offended his delicate, animalistic senses. Logan looked good. Like, annoyingly good. The kind of good that made Wade question his life choices, like why he wasn't actively climbing Logan like a tree at this very moment.

But no, Wade was sad. Sad and horny. A combination that was probably illegal in some countries. He quickly distracted himself by grabbing another glass from the bar, because when the heart hurts, the hands need something to do, even if it's just pretending to drink. He poured another shot, staring at the liquid like it had all the answers. 

"Can't drink my way out of feeling like shit, huh?" Wade echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glanced at Logan. "Well, I can't exactly stab my way out of it either, though I'm sure that's more your style." He downed the shot, immediately regretting it because all it did was remind him that he couldn't even get a decent buzz to dull the pain. Logan grunted, pushing away from the bar and grabbing a bottle of bourbon with the ease of someone who was used to handling dangerous situations. 

He arched an eyebrow, looking like he was about to say something serious, something deep and meaningful, which was a terrifying thought. Wade held up a hand, cutting him off before he could ruin the mood with any of that touchy-feely crap. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, Captain Broody Pants. I can practically see the wisdom trying to ooze out of your pores, and while I appreciate the effort, I'm really not in the mood for one of your lectures on how to be a real man or whatever."

Logan's lips twitched, a flicker of a smirk, though his eyes remained steady on Wade's, and damn if that wasn't doing things to him. "I was just going to say that moping around in a bar isn't going to change anything. You're better than this, Wade."

"Better than this?" Wade repeated, his voice taking on a theatrical tone as he spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over a glass in the process. "I'm the fucking poster boy for bad decisions! Drinking in a fancy-ass wedding bar while my ex—who, by the way, looks like a goddamn angel in that dress—is off dancing with Mr. Perfect McAsshat? This is exactly where I'm supposed to be!"

Logan sighed, the kind of sigh that said he'd rather be anywhere else but here, dealing with Wade's melodrama, but here he was anyway. "You're right. You're a mess. But you're not just some punchline. You're Wade Wilson, and you're more than just the guy who makes jokes when he's hurt."

Wade felt a pang in his chest, but he quickly shoved it down, because feelings? Feelings were for losers who didn't have a healing factor and a mask to hide behind. He looked Logan up and down, his gaze lingering a bit too long on the way Logan's shirt stretched over his chest, and yeah, maybe he was feeling a little bit of something that wasn't entirely sadness. 

Wade leaned in, close enough to smell the faint scent of cigars and whiskey that clung to Logan like a second skin. "And what exactly is that? Fucking? Or stabbing things until they stop moving? Because I gotta say, I'm partial to both."

Wade was teetering on the edge of sad and horny, and it was a dangerous place to be, especially when Logan was standing this close, looking all rugged and perfect and... stabby. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a katana, and Wade was half-tempted to close the distance, to do something that would definitely be a bad idea but would feel oh so good. "You know, we could just forget about all this Vanessa shit," Wade suggested, his tone light and teasing, but with an edge of something real underneath. "And instead, we could focus on something more... distracting."

Logan's gaze flickered to Wade's lips, and for a split second, Wade thought maybe—just maybe—Logan would go for it. But then Logan pulled back, just enough to make Wade want to reach out and pull him back in. "You're a real piece of work, Wilson," Logan said, his voice gruff but tinged with something that Wade couldn't quite place. "But I think you've had enough self-pity for one night."

Logan took the empty shot glass from Wade's hand, his grip firm but careful, like he was dealing with a volatile substance. "Come on, Bubba," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Before Wade could protest, Logan hoisted him off the barstool with a grunt, not even breaking a sweat. For a guy who looked like he was perpetually two seconds away from going on a rampage, Logan sure had a way of handling fragile things. Wade was trying really hard not to count himself in that category, but tonight... tonight was different.

As they made their way to the exit, Wade threw one last, lingering look at the bar. "Farewell, overpriced liquor that doesn't work on me. We could've been something, but alas, it wasn't meant to be."

Logan rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. He practically shoved Wade out the door and into the cool night air. The parking lot was quiet, the kind of eerie quiet that made Wade want to crack a joke just to fill the silence. But he couldn't find the words, so he just slumped against Logan as they walked to the car.

Logan unlocked the car with a click, and Wade flopped into the passenger seat like a sack of very attractive, emotionally complex potatoes. As Logan started the engine, the silence between them grew thick, charged with an undercurrent of tension that neither of them seemed willing to address head-on.

Wade stared out the window as they drove, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't want to have. He couldn't help it, though. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Vanessa—happy, glowing, and wrapped up in someone else's arms. Someone who wasn't him. His chest felt tight, like there was a vice clamped around his heart, squeezing until he could barely breathe.

Logan, as usual, was the epitome of quiet resolve. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his knuckles turning white with the effort. Wade noticed the tension in Logan's jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the road, like he was determined to ignore the elephant in the car—the one wearing a red-and-black suit and feeling like a complete and utter failure.

They pulled up outside of their place, and Logan killed the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Wade was too wrapped up in his own head, and Logan... well, Logan was Logan. The kind of guy who dealt with problems by punching them in the face, but tonight, he couldn't punch Wade's heartbreak into submission. 

"Come on, let's get you inside," Logan said, finally breaking the silence. He got out of the car and walked around to Wade's side, opening the door with a gentleness that Wade didn't deserve. Wade let Logan help him out, his feet dragging as they walked to the front door. Once inside, the emptiness of the place hit Wade like a ton of bricks. The apartment felt too big, too quiet, too... everything. Like it was mocking him with its emptiness. Al must've gone out and taken Dogpool with her.

Logan led Wade to Al's bedroom, his hand on Wade's back, guiding him like he was afraid Wade might collapse at any moment. Wade did feel like he might. Like he was a sickly maiden in need of care. 

"Alright, Bubba, get in," Logan said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He pulled back the covers, nodding for Wade to get in.

Wade hesitated at the edge of the bed, staring down at the rumpled sheets like they held some sort of answer. "You know what I hope?" Wade said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. He looked up at Logan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I hope I go to sleep and never wake up."

Logan froze in the doorway, his hand hovering over the light switch. The tension in the air thickened, and for a moment, Wade thought Logan might actually turn around and leave him there, alone with his thoughts. But instead, Logan's shoulders tensed, and he turned back to face Wade, his eyes blazing with something Wade couldn't quite name. "Don't say that shit."

Wade shrugged. "Why not? It's true. No one would miss me if I was gone. Hell, half the people I know would probably throw a party. 'Ding dong, the Deadpool's dead.'"

Logan's eyes narrowed, his usual gruffness giving way to something sharper, more intense. He stepped closer to Wade, his boots heavy on the floor, and for a moment, the air between them felt like it was about to snap. "Is this all over some girl?" Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Wade flinched at Logan's words, but he didn't back down. Instead, he gave a bitter laugh, the kind that cut deep and didn't even try to hide the pain behind it. "Some girl?" Wade echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure, let's reduce the love of my life to 'some girl.' Why not? It's not like she's the one person who made me feel like I wasn't just some cosmic punchline. No, let's just call her 'some girl' and pretend like everything's fine."

Logan crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze hard as steel, but there was something else there too. Concern, maybe? Or pity? Wade couldn't tell, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "So you're telling me this is all about Vanessa? You're ready to check out for good because some guy married her instead of you?"

Wade didn't respond as he shrugged his suit jacket off, throwing it into a corner of the room.

Logan's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Wade thought he might actually walk away, leave him to drown in his own self-pity. But Logan didn't move. Instead, he stepped back into the room, crossing the distance between them in a few quick strides. He grabbed Wade by the shoulders, forcing him to look up, to meet his gaze. Logan's eyes were intense, filled with a fierce kind of determination that took Wade by surprise.

"Don't you ever say that again," Logan growled, his grip tightening just enough to make his point. "You think you're the only one who's ever lost something that mattered? That you're the only one who's ever had to watch someone they love walk away?"

Wade opened his mouth to respond with some smartass remark, but Logan wasn't done. He shook Wade slightly, enough to make his head snap back and his thoughts scatter. "Shut up and listen, Mouth. I know that's really fucking hard for you but try, just this once," Logan's voice cut through Wade's attempt at humor like a hot knife through butter. "You're not the only one who's lost people, who's had to watch someone they love walk away. But you don't see me sitting around wishing I'd never wake up. You know why?"

Wade opened his mouth to retort, but Logan's glare was enough to shut him up.

"Because there's more to life than just one person," Logan pressed on, his grip still firm on Wade's shoulders. "You think I don't know what it's like to love someone so much it hurts? To want something so bad, but know it'll never be yours? Hell, Wade, I've lived more lifetimes than you can imagine, and I've seen it all. But I'm still here. You know why?"

"Because it's not just about them. It's about you. About the people who still give a damn about you, even when you're being a complete jackass. And yeah, you've got family, and you've got friends. You've got people who care whether you're here or not. Even if you don't want to admit it, they'd miss you."

Wade's throat tightened, and he tried to brush it off with a joke. "Wow, Peanut, you're really laying it on thick. What's next? We braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings?"

Logan ignored the quip, his gaze unwavering. "You think no one would miss you? Bullshit." He leaned in closer, clenching his teeth so tightly together Wade was scared they might shatter under the tension. "I would."

Wade's heart skipped a beat, the realization crashing down on him with all the subtlety of a freight train. 

Holy fuck!

 He felt like the ceiling had just opened up and Marvel Jesus himself had shone a spotlight on his head.

He might actually Like Logan! And not just in the 'Hey, you're body is banging! Let's make sweet, sweet love under the moonlight' type of way. More in a 'Logan in sweatpants, barely awake but still trying to make coffee that didn't taste like motor oil,  while Wade propped his chin on his broad shoulder, peppering kisses on the back of his neck where his scent was thickest'. Wade could see them both tangled in blankets, half-watching crappy morning TV while debating whether or not they should actually get up while Mary Puppins snuggled in between the two of them (probably closer to Logan because she somehow liked him better than Wade--the traitor!). He could imagine them grocery shopping: Logan pushing a cart while Wade threw random items into it just to mess with him. They'd argue over the proper way to pick out produce and whether or not buying ten different types of cereal was excessive. Logan grumbling about fixing leaky faucets or assembling furniture, while Wade pretended to be the handyman, only making things worse, but he would be in prime view of Logan's ass when he inevitably had to fix it. Filing taxes, paying bills, and attending boring social functions that Wade would have to pretend to love because Logan would secretly want to be there. Matching Christmas sweaters. Thanksgiving. Knowing Logan and he wouldn't kill each other if a knife or two were drawn. Knowing that it would inevitably lead to sexsexsexsex. 

"What?" Logan growled, the sound low and rough, vibrating through the air between them.

Wade didn't answer. 

Instead, he just leaned in, closing the distance between them in one fluid motion.

The kiss was hot and heavy, filled with the kind of desperation that had been simmering under the surface for too long. Wade's hands fisted in Logan's shirt, pulling him closer, while Logan's hands gripped Wade's hips, anchoring him in place. It wasn't gentle or sweet—it was raw, messy, and full of the kind of need that Wade had been trying to ignore for months. Maybe even longer.Logan's jacket was the first casualty, hitting the floor with a dull thud as Wade tore it off him, his fingers already working to unbutton Logan's shirt. But before he could get more than a couple of buttons undone, Logan pushed him back with a force that sent Wade stumbling.

"What the hell?" Wade breathed out, his voice shaky as he stared at Logan in confusion. "You don't want me either?"

Logan didn't answer immediately. He turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

"You still love her," Logan said, his voice rough and strained, like it physically hurt him to say the words.

"What?"

Logan moved to leave the room, his movements jerky and tense, but Wade wasn't about to let him go that easily. He grabbed Logan's arm, yanking him back. "Whoa, you prick. You can't just blue-ball me here. What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're sad. And horny-"

"Like always," Wade shot back, trying to keep the situation light even as his heart pounded in his chest.

"Jesus Christ," Logan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache. "Can you take this seriously? Just this once."

"Can you stop acting like a fucking teenager about this? It's sex, Peanut. It's not a big fucking deal-"

"To you," Logan snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. Wade froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"What?" Wade asked, his voice smaller than he intended, the confusion clear in his eyes.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth twitching into a snarl. "Figure it out," Logan growled, his voice rough with emotion. "You're smart."

And with that, Logan turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the walls rattle. 

--------------------------------------------------

The next morning was as awkward as Wade had expected, if not worse. He shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep, only to find Logan already there, his back turned as he fixed a cup of coffee. Logan didn't look up when Wade entered, and for a moment, Wade thought about turning around and heading back to his room. But he was Deadpool, damn it. He didn't back down from anything—especially not from an awkward morning-after conversation.

"Morning, Sunshine," Wade chirped, pouring a generous amount of sugar into his mug before sloshing in some coffee. The silence that followed was deafening. Logan didn't respond, just took a long sip of his coffee, his shoulders still hunched in that brooding way Wade had come to associate with something being seriously wrong.

"Okay, so, this is how it's gonna be?" Wade pressed, his voice unusually quiet. "We're just gonna pretend last night didn't happen?"

Logan's jaw clenched, and he set his mug down with a bit too much force. Wade winced at the sound, the tension in the room ratcheting up another notch.

"Nothing happened," Logan finally said, his voice low and even, like he was trying to keep his temper in check. 

Wade felt a flash of irritation. "Bullshit," he shot back, leaning against the counter. "You were this close—" he held his fingers inches apart "—to making this a whole different kind of morning. But you stopped. Why?"

Logan's eyes flicked up to meet Wade's, dark and stormy, before he looked away again. "Drop it, Wade."

"Logan..."

"I said drop it," Logan growled, and this time there was an edge of warning in his voice that made Wade hesitate. For a moment, he considered pushing further, demanding an answer, but the look on Logan's face made him think twice. There was something there—something raw and vulnerable that Wade wasn't used to seeing in the man who was normally so composed, so unflinchingly stoic.

"Fine. Have it your way," Wade muttered, backing off. But the hurt was still there, simmering beneath the surface, and he couldn't quite hide it in his voice. "I'll just be over here, pining pathetically like the lovesick puppy you think I am."

Logan's shoulders tensed at that, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts and a sinking feeling in his gut.-------------------------------------------------------------The days that followed were a painful routine of avoidance and missed opportunities. Every time Wade tried to bring up what had happened between them—or rather, what hadn't happened—Logan found a way to dodge the conversation. He'd leave the room, change the subject, or growl out a curt "Not now, Bub," before disappearing for hours on end. 

Wade kept telling himself that it was fine. Logan was just being his usual broody, emotionally constipated self, and he'd come around eventually. But as the days turned into weeks, Wade couldn't ignore the growing distance between them. It was like there was this invisible wall between them now, and no matter how hard Wade tried, he couldn't break through it.

One evening, about a month after that night, Wade finally snapped. Logan had been avoiding him all day, and Wade had had enough. He cornered Logan in the hallway, blocking his path."Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?" Wade demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and something that sounded a lot like desperation.

Logan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now-"

"Not now? When then?" Wade shot back, his voice rising. "Because it's been 'not now' for weeks, and I'm kinda sick of it."

"What do you want from me, Wade?" Logan asked, his voice low, almost defeated. "You want me to apologize for stopping something that shouldn't have happened in the first place? Or do you just want to keep pushing until you get what you want?"

"What I want?" he echoed, the anger in his voice mixing with genuine confusion. "You think this is about getting what I want?"

Logan didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Wade felt something snap inside him. He didn't know what else to do, how else to get through to Logan. So he did the one thing he knew how to do best—he picked a fight.

"Fine," Wade muttered, his voice darkening. "If that's what you think of me, then let's do this your way."

Before Logan could react, Wade pulled out one of his katanas and slashed at Logan's arm, the blade cutting through muscle and skin with a sickening sound. Logan hissed in pain, his hand going to the wound instinctively, but he didn't fight back. Wade watched as the wound began to heal almost immediately, the flesh knitting itself back together with that all-too-familiar rapidity. 

"Fight back!" Wade shouted, slashing at Logan again, this time across the chest. Blood splattered across the floor, but Logan still didn't react. He just stood there, taking it, his face a mask of stoic resolve.

"What's the matter, huh? You scared you'll get your ass handed to you again, old man?" Wade taunted, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Logan winced as another cut split across his shoulder, but still, he didn't fight back. Wade kept slashing, over and over, the adrenaline pumping through his veins making him feel invincible, unstoppable. But Logan just kept taking it, letting Wade tear him apart without so much as lifting a finger in defense.

"Come on!" Wade screamed, slashing at Logan's side, the blade slicing deep. "Fight back, you fucking coward! What's wrong with you?!"

Finally, Logan snapped. With a growl, he grabbed Wade by the shirt, his grip like iron as he lifted him off the ground and hurled him across the room. Wade crashed through the window with a loud shatter, glass exploding around him as he tumbled through the air, landing hard in the dumpster outside.

Wade lay there for a moment, dazed, before the smell hit him. He groaned, rolling over onto his back and glaring up at the shattered window above.

"Motherfucker!" he yelled, voice echoing in the alleyway. "You know I've been stashing Mary Poppins pee pads in here!"

There was no answer from the window, just the sound of glass crunching as Logan moved inside. Wade lay back, staring up at the sky, his body already healing from the rough landing.

-----------------------------------

Wade drummed his fingers on the table, his leg bouncing restlessly under it. Vanessa looked radiant—marriage seemed to suit her, not that Wade was surprised. Craig was a decent guy, stable, boring, rich as hell. Basically, the opposite of Wade in every conceivable way.

"So, married life treating you good?" Wade asked, forcing a grin that was more genuine than he expected. "You two already planning to pop out some tiny, annoyingly perfect babies, or are you still enjoying the honeymoon phase?"

Vanessa smiled a soft, almost serene expression that made Wade's chest ache just a little. "We're just taking it one day at a time. Craig's been amazing, and I'm happy, Wade. I really am."

Wade made a mock gagging noise, sticking his finger in his mouth. "Ugh, gross. You're so happy and fulfilled without me. It's almost like my destructive influence was holding you back or something."

She chuckled, the sound light and free, and Wade felt the tension in his chest loosen a bit. "You know that's not true. I was a hooker-"

"A damn good one, too," Wade said, taking a sip. He paused, sunglasses barely shielding the glare from the sun that shone over their rich person patio. "Is this the part when I beg for you to take me back?

Vanessa smirked. "Ha ha. Fuck you."

Wade took a sip of his tea, letting the warm liquid settle the nervous energy buzzing under his skin. "Did that. Was in a movie about it. Died for it. Next."

She laughed, a light sound that made Wade's heart clench just a little. Not the gut-wrenching, chest-crushing kind of clench, but more like a distant echo of something that used to be there. "Wade," Vanessa said softly, leaning forward slightly. "I'm happy. But you know what? I'm happy that you're here, and you seem... okay. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm spectacular," Wade replied with a grin, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thriving, really. Living the dream. My roommate only fucking hates me half the time now, and I'm still doing the whole 'merc with a mouth' thing, which, as you know, is a dream come true."

Vanessa's smile dimmed slightly, and Wade could see the concern creeping in around the edges of her expression. "You haven't shut up about him since you got here, you know."

"Who, Logan?" Wade waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, well, he's my roommate. It's kind of hard not to talk about the guy who's up my ass--figuratively, not literally--24/7."

Vanessa gave him a knowing look, the kind that made Wade squirm in his seat. "Wasn't he supposed to move out or something? I remember you saying he was looking for a place."

Wade shrugged, taking a sip of his tea as if that would somehow make the question go away. "Yeah, well, apparently he doesn't want to 'break the lease' or something. But we both know the real reason is that he's finally realizing money doesn't grow on trees. Life's expensive out there in the big bad world."

"Or," Vanessa said, her voice gentle but firm, "he realizes that if he does, he's leaving a good thing behind."

Wade choked on his tea, coughing and sputtering like he'd just swallowed a live grenade.  "I beg your fucking pardon?" he croaked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Vanessa smiled knowingly, hiding her grin behind her cup. "You like him, Wade. And he likes you."

Wade stared at her, his brain scrambling to make sense of what she was saying. "Mmm. I see. That's close. I like him. He doesn't like me at all, apparently."

"And he told you that?" Vanessa asked flatly.

"Uh, dur," Wade said, waving his hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "In a series of grunts and by refusing to have sexual intercourse with me, yes."

Vanessa set her cup down with a soft clink, her expression softening. "Logan called me."

Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he'd been shot. "That conniving bitch! What did he say about me?"

Vanessa stirred the tea with her finger, the wedding ring glinting as it moved in circles. Wade's eyes followed it like a cat would a laser. Vanessa took another sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving his. "He said that I was stupid for letting you go."       

Wade waved his hand dismissively. "Debatable. And?"

"He told me," Vanessa continued, her voice soft but steady, "that I should break up with Craig and take you back, or cut you loose because I was going to kill you if I kept stringing you along."

Wade stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. He gulped, trying to find words that made sense, but all he could do was blink. Vanessa reached across the table, grabbing his hands in hers. Her touch was warm, comforting, and Wade suddenly felt very, very small. 

"Wade Wilson," she said, her voice steady, sincere. "I love you."

And for a split second, Wade thought he was supposed to feel something monumental, like the earth shifting beneath his feet, like the universe snapping into place. These were the words he had once ached to hear, the words that had haunted him in the dead of night. But now... now, they just felt like words.

His heart wasn't pounding, his palms weren't sweaty. He didn't feel the urge to fall to his knees and beg her to take him back. Instead, all he felt was a soft, gentle sort of peace. A peace that whispered to him that this chapter of his life was over, and that was okay.

Actually, at this moment, all he really wanted was to go home. To Blind Al, who was probably cussing at some kid in an online poker game. To Dogpool, whose piles of drool probably needed cleaning. To their stupid little apartment, filled to the brim with cocaine, pictures, garbage, and those damn candles people kept buying him even though he didn't even like them. And, well... he kind of wanted to go home to Logan. And kiss him. A lot.

"Huh..." Wade murmured, the realization settling over him like a warm blanket.

Vanessa rubbed her thumb over his hand, her eyes shining with understanding. "Wade Wilson."

Wade smiled softly, the first genuine smile he'd felt in a long time. "Vanessa Carlysle."

She playfully corrected him, "Vanessa Van Housen."

Wade made a face, his nose crinkling in mock disgust. "Even his last name sounds pompous as fuck. Where did he get it? Rich Guy Name Generator?"

Vanessa laughed, that beautiful, familiar sound that he'd once fallen in love with. But this time, his chest didn't hurt. Not even a little.

Well, maybe a little. An eensy bit. He did save the world for her at one point of his life after all.

Vanessa laughed, a genuine laugh that warmed Wade's heart, but this time, it didn't hurt. It didn't make him want to cling to her or beg her to take him back. It just felt... nice.And for once, nice was enough.

---------------------------------------------------Wade took a deep breath, his fingers lingering on the doorknob for just a second longer than necessary. The familiar creak of the door sounded as he pushed it open, stepping inside the apartment.

His eyes immediately landed on Logan, who was hunched over the kitchen table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop. The soft glow of the screen illuminated Logan's rugged features, casting shadows across the sharp lines of his jaw and the deep-set intensity of his eyes. He was dressed in a plain white tank top that clung to his muscular frame, showing off every ripple and curve of his biceps and shoulders. The tank top was just a little too tight, revealing a hint of the veins that snaked down his arms. 

Wade couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail, every line etched into Logan's skin, every slight movement of his fingers as they tapped at the keyboard. There was something almost hypnotic about the way Logan moved—deliberate, controlled, like a predator always ready to strike. And yet, there was a softness in his expression, a vulnerability that Wade had only glimpsed in fleeting moments.

Logan must have sensed Wade's presence because he looked up, their eyes locking across the room. For a few tense seconds, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Wade's heart pounded in his chest, a dull ache settling in his stomach as he waited for Logan to say something, anything, to break the silence.

"I found a place," Logan said finally, his voice low and gruff. He looked back at his laptop, as if the words didn't matter, as if they hadn't just ripped Wade's heart out and stomped on it. "I'll be out in a month."

Wade didn't respond. His mind was reeling, his chest tight with a sudden, crushing sense of loss. Without a word, he turned and headed for his bedroom, his feet moving on autopilot. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The thought of Logan leaving, of him not being here—every day, every morning, every night—

Just as he reached the door to his room, Wade stopped dead in his tracks. 

Wait, what the fuck am I doing? 

Spinning on his heel, Wade marched into Blind Al's room, spotting a set of keys on her bed. He snatched them up without a second thought and stormed back into the kitchen. Logan looked up just in time to see Wade launch the keys at his head. Logan caught them mid-air, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

"You nearly took my eye out," Logan growled, glaring at Wade with a look that could have melted steel.

Wade ignored the complaint, his voice deadly serious. "Get in the car."

Logan blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Get in the fucking car," Wade repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I swear to God I will chop all of your limbs off and manually put you piece by piece in the passenger seat."

Logan's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. "Yeah? Let me know how that goes."

Wade shrugged, adopting a casual tone that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. Plan B."

Logan's eyes flickered with suspicion. "What the hell is Plan B?"

Without warning, Wade pulled out a gun and shot Logan in the head. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the apartment, followed by the heavy thud of Logan's body hitting the floor. Wade holstered the gun, already moving to gather supplies.----------------------------------

When Logan woke up, he found himself tied up in the back of Wade's Honda Odyssey, the world outside the windows speeding by in a blur. His head must have been throbbing, the remnants of the bullet wound still knitting together, and his limbs were bound tightly with duct tape, leaving him immobile.

Wade glanced back from the driver's seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Morning, Sunshine. I wondered how long it would be until you woke up."

"Motherfucker," Logan growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble as he tugged at the duct tape binding his limbs. "You fucking shot me."

Wade shrugged, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to catch Logan's glare. "I couldn't take any chances, Peanut. You've been a slippery little bastard lately." He grinned, the kind of grin that promised trouble. "And besides, it's nothing you haven't survived before."

Logan let out a feral snarl, his muscles straining against the tape. "I'm going to rip your goddamn arms off when I get out of this."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," Wade replied dismissively, turning his attention back to the road. "You know, I'd say this is like our little Honda Odyssey scene in Deadpool 3, but I don't think Marvel's legal team would appreciate the comparison." He paused, considering that for a second. "Or maybe they would. Marvel loves free promo."

Logan's eyes narrowed, his mind clearly already working on an escape plan, but before he could start making any progress, Wade suddenly veered off the highway and into an abandoned Denny's parking lot. The car screeched to a halt, gravel spraying in all directions.

"Why the hell are we here?" Logan growled, his voice dripping with suspicion.

Wade put the car in park, unbuckling his seatbelt with a dramatic flourish. "Because, Logan, nobody gives a shit about what happens at a Denny's. We could start World War III out here, and the only response we'd get is someone asking if we want extra syrup with our pancakes." He stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

Logan had barely a second to react before Wade yanked open the back door and dragged him out, tossing him into the passenger seat like a sack of potatoes. Logan hit the seat with a grunt, his healing factor kicking in almost instantly to dull the pain. Wade slid back into the driver's seat of the car, manually locking his side with a knowing look despite the busted-out windows, before turning back toward Logan.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a knife, and in one swift motion, cut through the duct tape binding Logan's arms. "Come on, Old Man," Wade taunted. "Let's settle this the old-fashioned way. You, me, Denny's parking lot, and ole reliable here," he punched the top of the car. "It's practically destiny."

Logan didn't need any more encouragement, his claws extending with that familiar snikt as he launched himself at Wade. But Wade was ready, his reflexes sharp as ever. He ducked under Logan's first swing, his body moving with the fluidity of someone who had been through this dance a thousand times before.

"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, huh?" Wade quipped, sidestepping another swipe from Logan's claws. "If you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask. But hey, I'm not into that kind of foreplay—well, not unless there's dinner involved."

Logan growled, his eyes narrowing as he swung again, this time aiming for Wade's midsection. Wade blocked the strike with his forearm, wincing as the claws sliced through his suit, drawing blood. But instead of backing off, he grinned, the pain only fueling his adrenaline.

"You know, you're really good at this. Must be all those years of pent-up frustration, huh? Tell me, does it make you feel better to have someone to hit who actually enjoys it? Because, spoiler alert, I'm loving this," Wade said, ducking under Logan's next attack and spinning around to deliver a quick jab to Logan's ribs. 

Logan grunted, the punch barely fazing him as he countered with a brutal elbow to Wade's jaw. Wade's head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went white. But he recovered quickly, shaking it off with a laugh.

"You're really getting into this, aren't you?" Wade taunted, rubbing his jaw. 

Logan's response was a wordless snarl as he lunged again, this time driving Wade back against the carseat. Wade barely had time to brace himself before Logan's claws were in his chest. Logan plunged them into his chest cavity upwards of twelve times--a new record, hooray!--before he drove them into his chest one last time. 

Wade's grin never faltered, even as he felt the claws imbed themselves into the back of the seat.. "Is this your way of saying you're into me? Because I gotta say, it's kinda hot." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his voice dropping to a low, teasing purr. "If you wanted to pin me against something, all you had to do was ask."

Logan's eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and frustration, his grip tightening. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?"

"Never have, never will," Wade replied with a wink. "But hey, if it's any consolation, I've been told I'm a great kisser. You know, in case you wanted to switch things up."

Logan's snarl deepened, and for a moment, Wade thought he might actually go through with it—end this ridiculous dance once and for all. But instead, Logan shoved him away, sending Wade's back into the driver's seat. 

Wade caught himself on the steering wheel, laughing breathlessly as he wiped the blood from his mouth. "Is that it? Is that all you got?"

Logan didn't respond, his chest heaving as he struggled to rein in his emotions. His claws retracted with a snikt. "Why do you keep doing this?" Logan's voice was hoarse, as if the question itself was tearing something out of him.

Wade grinned through the pain, his heart hammering in his chest as he locked eyes with Logan. "What? Fighting you?" Wade's voice was thick with mock surprise as he feigned innocence. "I thought you enjoyed it! I stab you, you stab me. I figured it'd bring back some of that good ol' nostalgia, you know? A trip down memory lane, back to where it all started—two dysfunctional guys, beating the crap out of each other in the shittiest, fuckiest vehicle on planet earth. It's almost romantic."

Logan's patience snapped, and with a sudden, vicious movement, he snatched one of Wade's own knives and drove it into Wade's side. Wade's laughter turned into a growl as the blade bit deep, but it only fueled the fire raging inside him.

"That's it!" Wade roared as he pounced on Logan, his hand slamming the lever to push the passenger seat back. In one fluid motion, Wade straddled Logan's chest, the golden guns he loved so much flipping out of their holsters and pressing against Logan's forehead.

Logan stared up at him, his eyes filled with fury and something else—something that looked an awful lot like resignation. "You won't."

Wade's grin turned feral. "I already did. And I will again." He cocked the gun, the cold metal pressing harder against Logan's skull. "How do bullets sound for dinner, sweet thing?"

Logan growled, his muscles tensing beneath Wade as he tried to push him off. But before he could even get a word out, Wade fired a shot into Logan's thigh. Logan's snarl was drowned out by the sound of the gunshot, his claws tearing through the fabric of the car seat as he struggled to break free.

"Stop! Oh my god, just stop for a second!" Wade snapped, the frustration finally boiling over. "Can I just say what I need to say before you turn me into a Wolverine shish-kabob?"

Logan's teeth bared in a feral snarl, but he stopped pushing against Wade, his breath ragged and hot against Wade's chest. Wade leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper as he spoke. "You're really making this difficult, you know that?"

"Mask off," Logan grunted, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at Wade.

Wade hesitated, the familiar mask suddenly feeling like a shield he wasn't ready to lower. "No, I prefer to keep the mask on, actually. And I'm literally the one calling the shots here, so—"

Logan's claws shot out, piercing through Wade's thigh with brutal efficiency. Wade yelped, his grip on the guns tightening as pain shot through his leg. "Marvel H. Christ, fine! Mask off! You really need to work on using your words, angel face, or this is never going to work. I mean, don't get me wrong, it turns me on, but a guy can only take so much—"

"What's never going to work?" Logan interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through Wade's rambling like a knife.

Wade froze, his bravado faltering for the first time. The humor in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly reached up to pull off his mask, revealing the scarred, disfigured face beneath.

He looked down at Logan, his breath hitching in his throat as he finally said the words that had been clawing at the back of his mind for months. "I like you."

Logan snorted, his expression dark and disbelieving. "Fuck off."

"It's true, sugar bear. Trust me, I hate it as much as you do. But I, Wade Redacted Wilson, have a crush on Logan Most Obvious Last Name Ever."

Logan's eyes searched Wade's face, looking for any sign of a joke, any hint that this was just another one of Wade's twisted games. But all he found was honesty—raw, unfiltered, and terrifying.

"You're serious," Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade.

Wade nodded, his heart pounding in his ears. "Yeah, I am. And it's really fucking scary because I know I'm the last person you'd ever want to be with. But I can't help it. I mean, I know that I'm not much. I don't have a steady income or even a legit job. I know I'm annoying as all get out, and that I look like deer jerky that's been over-dried, and that I come with a lot of baggage. Like going on a trip and never coming back so I pack all of my belongings type baggage. And I don't even know if you're gay, even, I mean. I don't know if Marvel was going for comic book accurate or if we're set on making you straight Wolvie. Like, am I making a complete ass of myself? Probably. But I'm willing to take that chance because, honestly, you're the only thing in my life that feels right. Even if it means I'm risking everything to be here, saying this, right now."

Logan's silence was deafening. His claws retracted, and for a moment, he just stared at Wade, his expression unreadable.

"Say something," Wade whispered, his voice cracking with uncertainty. "Anything. Or I'm just going to keep talking, and it's going to get really personal-"

"Gubernatorial."

"What-?"

Logan didn't answer with words; instead, he closed the distance between them in one swift motion, grabbing the front of Wade's suit and pulling him into a kiss so fierce and intense that it silenced every smart-ass remark Wade had been about to make. Wade's eyes widened in shock for a split second before they fluttered shut, his body melting into Logan's. 

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—

Wade's thoughts raced as he clung to Logan, his hands gripping the older man's biceps like they were the only thing anchoring him to reality. The kiss was all teeth and desperation, as if both of them had been waiting for this moment longer than either wanted to admit. Wade's hands slid up to Logan's shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until he felt like he was drowning in it.

He didn't even realize they'd started moving until his back hit the backseat of the Odyssey, and Logan's body pressed against him, solid and unyielding. Wade's breath hitched as Logan's lips left his, trailing hot kisses down his jaw, his neck, making him shiver.

"I—uh, I really thought—" Wade began, his voice hoarse as Logan nipped at his collarbone, "I really thought you were gonna punch me or something. Which, don't get me wrong, would've been totally hot too, but—oh fuck—this is way better."

Logan's response was a low growl against Wade's skin, his hands already working on the fastenings of Wade's suit. Wade let out a shaky laugh, his fingers fumbling with Logan's belt in return.

"God, you're such a goddamn tease," Wade babbled as Logan's hands roamed over his body, finding every scar and every sensitive spot with an infuriating level of precision. "I mean, seriously, you're gonna drive me crazy, but I guess that's not a far drive, huh? Get it? Because I'm already—oh, shit, that's good—"

Logan's lips were back on his, silencing him again, but Wade couldn't help himself. He kept talking between kisses, the words spilling out of him like a dam had burst.

"Okay, okay, I know I talk too much—oh my God, that's amazing—like, I just, I can't stop, it's a problem, really, I should probably—fuck—probably see a therapist about it, but—Jesus, Wolvie—"

Logan's hands slid down to Wade's hips, lifting him up like he weighed nothing, and Wade's legs wrapped around him instinctively. He could feel Logan's hard body against his, the heat between them almost unbearable.

"Wait, wait—are you sure—" Wade started, but Logan shut him up with another bruising kiss, his body pressing Wade into the seats. Wade moaned, his hands threading through Logan's hair, pulling him closer.

"You're sure," Wade muttered against Logan's lips, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth even as Logan's hands roamed lower. "Okay, okay, just checking, 'cause I don't want you to—ah—regret this later, and—oh fuck, don't stop—"

Logan didn't stop. His hands were everywhere, his mouth hot and demanding as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down Wade's chest, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, making Wade arch off the seat. 

"I mean, seriously, Wolvie, who would've thought—oh God—who would've thought you were so good at this? I mean, not that I doubted you, 'cause you're like—fuck, right there—like, totally a sex god and all, but—"

Logan's hands gripped Wade's thighs, spreading them wider, and Wade's words dissolved into a moan as Logan's mouth moved lower, his tongue teasing along the edge of Wade's suit before he finally, finally pulled the rest of it off, leaving Wade completely exposed. "Shut the fuck up, Bub," he growled.

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up, I'll—oh my God—okay, maybe I won't shut up, 'cause I really can't help it, but—fuck, you're so—"

Logan's mouth was on him, and Wade's mind went blank, his hands clutching at the cupholders as pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave. Every coherent thought was wiped away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of Logan's touch, his lips, his teeth, every movement pushing Wade closer to the edge. 

Wade's rambling became incoherent, his voice rising in pitch as Logan continued, driving him crazy in the best possible way. His body tensed, every muscle coiled tight as the pleasure built and built until it was too much to handle.

"Logan, I—fuck, I'm gonna—"

Logan didn't let up, his hands and mouth working in perfect sync, and Wade couldn't hold back any longer. He came with a choked cry, his body shaking as the pleasure ripped through him, leaving him breathless and spent.

Logan didn't move away, his touch gentler now as he helped Wade ride out the aftershocks, his lips pressing soft kisses to Wade's heated skin. Wade lay there, panting, his heart racing as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Holy shit," Wade finally managed, his voice hoarse. "That was—wow. I mean, seriously, wow. You're like—you're like the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I know I'm not supposed to get all sappy and shit, but I think I'm in love with you."

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting Wade's with that same unreadable expression. For a moment, Wade thought he might have crossed a line, that maybe he'd said too much. But then Logan leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against Wade's lips.

"You talk too much," Logan muttered, but there was no bite in his words, just a hint of amusement.

Logan's eyes darkened as he looked down at Wade, his thumb continuing to trace the rough skin of the scars on Wade's neck. There was an intensity in his gaze, something raw and primal that made Wade's breath catch in his throat. Logan's hand slid down from Wade's neck, fingers trailing over his collarbone before resting on his chest, pressing him back into the seat with a firm, unyielding pressure. "My refractory time is practically close to nothing. I assume yours is the same?"

Logan smirked, and Wade's pulse quickened as he felt Logan's strength, the way he didn't hold back. He wasn't worried about hurting Wade. Wade wasn't worried about getting hurt. Actually, he was counting on it. Wade's mouth opened, a smart-ass comment ready to spill out, but Logan was faster. His free hand moved to Wade's face, his fingers slipping between Wade's lips, pressing down on his tongue.

"Quiet, Mouth," Logan growled, his voice low and commanding.

Wade's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist. Instead, he sucked on Logan's fingers, his eyes locked on Logan's, his breath coming in shallow pants as he waited to see what Logan would do next.

Logan's lips curled into a smirk, clearly pleased by Wade's compliance. He pulled his fingers out of Wade's mouth, replacing them almost immediately with a strip of fabric he tore from Wade's discarded suit. Logan pressed the makeshift gag into Wade's mouth, tying it securely behind his head. Wade's muffled protests were met with a sharp, almost playful look from Logan.

"Now," Logan said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Wade's spine, "let's see if I can keep you quiet."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest as Logan's hands moved to his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand while the other trailed down his body, teasing, exploring. Wade squirmed beneath him, the rough fabric of the gag between his teeth only adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Logan's touch was deliberate, almost calculated, as he mapped out every inch of Wade's skin, lingering on the scars, the bruises, the places where Wade was most sensitive. Wade's muffled moans grew louder, more desperate, as Logan's hands roamed lower, skimming over his hips, his thighs, until finally, finally, he touched Wade where he wanted it most.

Wade arched off the seat, his body trembling with anticipation and need, but Logan didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, he took his time, exploring, teasing, driving Wade to the brink of madness with every slow, deliberate movement.

Logan's hand closed around Wade's cock, stroking him with a firm, unrelenting grip that had Wade seeing stars. Wade's moans grew more frantic, his hips bucking up into Logan's hand, desperate for more. But Logan was in no hurry. He kept his pace steady, controlled, keeping Wade right on the edge without letting him fall over.

Wade's muffled cries were almost frantic now, his body straining against Logan's hold, his need for release almost unbearable. But Logan wasn't done with him yet. With a wicked grin, Logan pulled his hand away, leaving Wade gasping and writhing in frustration.

Logan's hand moved to the knot behind Wade's head, and with one swift tug, the gag was gone. Wade gasped for air, his voice raw and desperate.

"Logan, please—" Wade started, but Logan silenced him with a kiss, hard and possessive, his teeth nipping at Wade's lips.

"You want something?" Logan growled against Wade's mouth, his voice laced with dark amusement.

"Yes—fuck, yes, I want—" Wade's words were cut off by another bruising kiss, Logan's hand wrapping around his throat, applying just enough pressure to make Wade's breath hitch.

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes boring into Wade's. "Then beg for it."

Wade's heart skipped a beat at the command, his body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. He swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he did exactly as Logan demanded.

"Please, Logan," Wade whispered, his voice thick with need. "I need you—please, I'll do anything, just—"

Logan didn't let him finish. With a low growl, he flipped Wade over onto his stomach, pinning him down with one strong hand on the back of his neck while the other yanked Wade's hips up. Wade could feel the heat of Logan's body against him, the hard press of his cock through his pants, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. "Fucking," Wade wheezed. "Coke bottle."

Logan let out a deep chuckle, and the strip of cloth was shoved back into his mouth. Wade groaned around the gag, the sound coming out muffled and desperate as Logan's fingers slid between his legs, spreading him open. 

Logan's hands were relentless but controlled, his fingers tracing the curve of Wade's ass, the touch almost teasing. Wade's breath hitched as he felt Logan's fingertips slide between his cheeks, spreading him open with a deliberate slowness that made his heart pound even harder. Logan was taking his time, making sure Wade felt every single movement, every brush of his skin against the most sensitive parts of him.

Wade's hips twitched involuntarily as Logan's fingers found his entrance, circling it with a maddening gentleness that had Wade trembling, trying to push back, desperate for more. But Logan's grip on his neck kept him firmly in place, a silent reminder of who was in control.

Logan leaned in closer, his breath hot against Wade's ear as he murmured, "You're gonna take everything I give you, Bub. Understand?"

Wade could only nod, his response a muffled whimper around the gag, his body straining against the pressure of Logan's hand on his neck. Logan's fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration, one finger pressing just inside, barely enough to satisfy, but more than enough to make Wade's head spin.

"Relax," Logan growled softly, his voice rough and commanding. Wade tried to do as he was told, letting out a shaky breath through his nose, his muscles loosening as Logan's finger pushed in deeper. The burn was sharp but not unpleasant, and the feeling of Logan stretching him open made Wade's pulse race even faster.

Logan's free hand slid down Wade's back, his touch firm and grounding, as if reminding Wade that he was there, that he was in control. Wade bit down on the gag, his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts as Logan added a second finger, the stretch more intense, pushing Wade's limits just enough to keep him on edge.

"That's it," Logan muttered, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he felt Wade relax further, his body submitting to Logan's touch. Logan scissored his fingers inside Wade, stretching him wider, his movements calculated and precise, making sure Wade was ready for what was coming next.Wade's muffled moans filled the room, the sensation of Logan's fingers inside him sending shivers up his spine, his body twitching with every twist and curl of Logan's fingers. Logan's thumb pressed against the base of Wade's spine, applying just enough pressure to make him arch his back, giving Logan better access as he added a third finger, the stretch almost overwhelming.

Wade's eyes squeezed shut, his fingers clawing at the sheets as Logan continued to work him open, his breath hitching with every movement. Logan's pace was unhurried, almost leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to draw this out, to push Wade to the brink and then pull him back, just to start all over again.

Wade's mind was a blur of sensation, the pleasure mingling with a sweet ache that had him trembling, his body caught in that perfect balance between pain and ecstasy. He could feel Logan's cock hard and heavy against his thigh, a constant reminder of what was coming, but Logan didn't rush. He kept Wade on edge, his fingers twisting and thrusting inside him with deliberate precision, making sure Wade was thoroughly prepared.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Logan's fingers slid out of Wade, leaving him feeling empty and desperate for more. Wade let out a muffled whine, his body trembling with need, but Logan's hand on his neck kept him grounded, kept him from falling apart completely.

Logan reached down to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise quiet car, and Wade's breath hitched in anticipation. He could feel Logan's cock brushing against him, thick and hot, and his body tensed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against Wade's ear as he growled, "You ready for me, Bub?"

Wade nodded frantically, his voice muffled by the gag, but his body spoke for him, his hips pushing back against Logan's in a silent plea.

Logan's hand tightened on Wade's neck, his other hand guiding himself to Wade's entrance, and with a low growl, he pushed in slowly, the head of his cock stretching Wade even further. Wade's breath caught in his throat, his body straining against the intrusion, but Logan didn't stop, pushing in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, his cock filling Wade completely.

Wade's muffled cries mixed with the sound of their bodies coming together, the sensation overwhelming, but Logan gave him no time to adjust, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in with a force that knocked the air out of Wade's lungs.

Logan set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and powerful, his grip on Wade's neck keeping him pinned in place, completely at Logan's mercy. Wade's body rocked with the force of Logan's thrusts, his muffled moans growing louder, more desperate, as Logan took him apart piece by piece.

Logan's hand moved from Wade's neck to his hips, pulling him back onto his cock with every thrust, pushing him deeper into the seat. Wade's world narrowed down to the sensation of Logan inside him, the sound of flesh against flesh filling  car. Wade could feel the pressure building inside him, the pleasure coiling tight in his belly, ready to snap. Logan's hand moved to Wade's cock, gripping it tightly and stroking in time with his thrusts, pushing Wade even closer to the edge.

Wade's moans grew louder, more desperate, his body trembling as he teetered on the brink. Logan's thrusts became almost punishing, each one driving Wade closer and closer until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a muffled scream, Wade came hard, his body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through him like a tidal wave.

Logan wasn't far behind, his grip on Wade tightening as he thrust deep one last time, his body shuddering as he found his own release. Wade could feel the hot rush of it inside him, Logan's body pressing him down into the seat as they both rode out the aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was their ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Logan slowly pulled out, his hands still on Wade's body, but gentler now, almost tender. He reached up and carefully removed the gag from Wade's mouth, tossing the fabric aside as he helped Wade roll onto his back. 

Wade's eyes were half-lidded, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Logan huffed as he leaned back, the confined space of the Honda Odyssey making it difficult to move, but he managed. He grumbled under his breath about the cramped quarters, shooting a half-hearted glare at the minivan's ceiling as if it were responsible for the whole situation. Wade just lay there, a dazed grin plastered on his face, completely content despite the sticky mess they'd made of the backseat.

"Well," Wade began, his voice raspy but still carrying that familiar Deadpool snark, "if I'd known you were going to be this romantic, I would have brought candles. Maybe some Barry White to set the mood. You know, really class up the joint."

Logan snorted, rolling his eyes as he reached for something in the front seat. He fumbled for a moment, his annoyance evident in the way he yanked at the fabric. Eventually, he pulled out an old flannel shirt, tossing it onto Wade's chest with little ceremony.

"Wipe yourself off," Logan muttered, the gruffness in his voice softened by a faint hint of concern as he watched Wade struggle to sit up.

Wade picked up the flannel and gave it an exaggerated sniff, wrinkling his nose dramatically. "Mmm, Eau de Wolvie. I think I'm gonna bottle this scent and sell it as 'Lust in the Woods.'" He dragged the shirt across his chest, making a show of cleaning himself off, though his movements were slower than usual, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his smile.

Logan didn't rise to the bait, instead, he reached out, his large hand surprisingly gentle as he took the flannel from Wade and continued cleaning him up, his touch efficient but careful. Wade watched him, his grin softening into something more genuine as he soaked in the moment. "You're gonna be sore tomorrow," Logan said, more as a statement than a question, his tone gruff as ever. He was careful, though, mindful of the tender spots as he worked.

"Pfft, sore's my middle name," Wade quipped, wincing only slightly as Logan's hand brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. "Well, that and Danger. And Maximum Effort. You know, because I'm multi-talented. Like a Swiss Army knife."

"You're a pain in the ass," Logan muttered, his voice low but lacking the usual edge.

"No I have a pain in the ass," Wade quipped back, opening his eyes to meet Logan's gaze, his smile full of mischief. "And don't think I didn't notice you keeping that shirt handy. Just in case we had a 'situation' in the backseat of this here luxurious, totally-not-a-mom-van."

Logan huffed, but the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shifted in the seat, his hand moving from Wade's thigh to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "You good?"

Wade nodded, his grin turning more genuine. "Yeah, I'm good. Better than good. Great, even. Might need to invest in some lumbar support for this bad boy, though," he added, patting the seat beneath them. "These backseats weren't exactly made for... this kind of activity."

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough, and Wade couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth at the sound. It was rare to get anything more than a grunt or a growl out of Logan, and hearing him actually laugh, even just a little, felt like a victory.

"Guess I'll have to upgrade next time," Logan said, his tone dry but laced with the slightest hint of amusement.

Wade's eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Did you just imply there's gonna be a next time? Oh, Peanut, you're making me blush. Here I thought I was just a one-night stand, a quick fling, a..."

Logan silenced him with a kiss, rough and a little awkward in the cramped space, but it was full of something that Wade didn't often get from the gruff mutant. Affection. Maybe even care. Wade melted into it, his usual banter forgotten as he returned the kiss, his hand coming up to tangle in Logan's hair.

When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were soft, and for once, Wade didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words. He just smiled, his hand still resting on Logan's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm.

"Let's get out of this damn van," Logan muttered, though there was no real urgency in his voice as he pulled Wade closer for one last kiss before reaching for his shirt.

"Yeah, yeah," Wade replied, his voice light as he reluctantly sat up, the spell of the moment finally breaking as he fumbled for his clothes. "But just so you know, this is totally going in my memoir."

Logan watched as Wade fumbled with his clothes, his usual playful demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. But Logan wasn't about to let him brush off what had just happened between them. Not this time.

"Bub," Logan began, his voice firm but not unkind as he reached out to still Wade's hands. Wade froze, his eyes flicking up to meet Logan's, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression.

"Yeah, Wolvie?" Wade's voice was softer now, the usual snark tempered with something more vulnerable.

Logan held his gaze, his hand still resting on Wade's, grounding them both in the moment. "I meant what I said. There's gonna be a next time. And another time after that. I'm not playin' games here."

Wade blinked, his mouth opening as if to say something, but words seemed to escape him. 

"I'm not gonna be second to Vanessa," Logan continued, his voice gruff but steady. "I don't do half-assed relationships. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. You and me. Monogamy. I'm not sharin' you with anyone, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be your backup plan."

"Marvel really picks and chooses what they want in their material, don't they?" Wade said, his voice slipping back into its usual sarcastic tone.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not following. "What're you talkin' about?"

Wade waved his free hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing, honey pie. Just going on about how good of a wife I would be to you. You know, the whole 'stand by your mutant' thing. I could totally rock an apron. Maybe even get one of those cute little 'kiss the cook' hats. Or maybe we could get matching flannel pajamas—because, seriously, you've got like a thousand of those, and I think I could really make it work."

"Wade," Logan warned.

Wade put his hands up defensively, his usual playful sarcasm still dancing in his eyes. "Fine, fine, no more jokes about being your perfect little housewife. But wait—" Wade suddenly froze, his expression shifting as a thought seemed to strike him. "Is that what your problem was the entire time?"

Logan, who had just turned to slip into the front seat, paused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Wade," he replied, his tone gruff, but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes as he settled into the driver's seat.

Wade gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest as if he'd just been struck by some grand revelation. "You scheming, bitch!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock outrage and disbelief. "You mean to tell me I could've been getting fucked this entire fanfiction if I'd just stopped beating the dead horse that I was still in love with Vanessa?"

Wade narrowed his eyes, his mind racing as he replayed every interaction they'd had up until this point. "Were you ever even gonna move out?" he accused.

Logan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached over and patted Wade's thigh, his touch firm and reassuring. "Get in your seat, bub," he said, his voice a mix of gruffness and something almost affectionate.

Wade stared at him for a moment, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts and questions. But then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

Wade slid into the passenger seat, finally buckling up as he let out a long breath. "You know, you could've just said something," he pointed out, though his tone was more teasing than anything else.

Logan shrugged, his eyes on the road ahead as he started the van. "You wouldn't have listened."

Wade thought about that for a moment and then nodded. "Fair point."

--------------------------

"So," Wade began, breaking the silence with his usual casual tone, "now that we've got that all figured out, does this mean we're officially a couple? Like, do I get to call you my boyfriend, or is that too high school for you? Maybe we should go with something more mature, like 'life partners.' Or we could just skip straight to 'husband'—really cut through all the red tape, you know?"

"Wade..."

"Okay, okay," Wade said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "No need to get all grumpy about it. But just so you know, I'm totally putting you down as my emergency contact from now on. And don't be surprised if you find a ring in your breakfast burrito one of these days."

"Wade."

"Fine, I'm shutting up now," he said, mock zipping his lips. He turned in his seat, watching as the trees zipped by the window. Was that a cum stain on the back one? Shit. He was pretty sure that Laura drove this car sometimes. Talk about trauma.

"Okay, but seriously," Wade piped up after a while, unable to resist, "if I start calling you 'honey bear,' you're not gonna claw me to death, right? Because I feel like it's a real missed opportunity if I don't."

Anddd those are Logan's claws in his thigh.

----------------------------------------------------------

Life didn't exactly get easier when Logan and Wade made it official. 

Better? Sure.

Sexier? Oh abso-fucking-lutely.

But easier...well, the jury was still out for that. 

They still fought like cats and dogs, but now, instead of ending up in separate corners licking their wounds, they usually ended up tangled together, panting and sweaty, in whatever corner they'd been trying to kill each other in. It was an arrangement that worked for them—at least, it worked for Logan. Wade was more than happy with the new dynamic, often goading Logan into a fight just to see where it would lead.

Then there was the jealousy. He had always thought of Logan the jealous type, but he hadn't really been prepared for just how much of a green-eyed monster he could be when it came to Wade. Hubba hubba indeed. Every time Wade so much as smiled at someone else, Logan's claws itched to make an appearance.  And the best part? Wade knew. Oh, did he ever know, and he reveled in it. He'd flirt outrageously with anyone within a ten-foot radius just to see Logan's eyes narrow and his jaw tighten, only to turn around and smirk at him with that infuriatingly charming grin.

And who knows? 

Maybe one day he really would marry the bastard. He'd even caught himself considering ring sizes—though he'd never admit that out loud.

Because Dearest Reader, Wade Wilson was happy.

Really, truly, fucking happy together. 

-------------------------------------------

It was Thanksgiving—a holiday Wade usually didn't give a flying fuck about, but this year was different. Logan had grudgingly agreed to a small get-together at their apartment with X-Force, Vanessa and Craig, as well as Laura. Oh, and Wade had somehow convinced Logan that showing up in matching flannel shirts was a great idea. 

"I'm not doing this," Logan muttered under his breath for what had to be the tenth time that morning as he tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Too late, babygirl ," Wade said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Logan's shoulders. "You agreed, and now we're gonna show up like the power couple we are. Besides, you look hot in flannel."

Logan grunted in response, his usual expression of grumpiness even more pronounced. If Logan wasn't so hellbent on keeping things under wraps, maybe Wade wouldn't have to go to such lengths dammit.

The apartment was surprisingly cozy, given the rough-and-tumble lives of its occupants. Logan had even managed to scrounge up some decorations—mostly at Wade's insistence. The table was set, and the smell of food filled the air, though Logan had refused to let Wade anywhere near the kitchen after a disastrous attempt at making cranberry sauce the night before. Most of it ended up in places that Wade didn't really want to talk about actually, can we move on?

As their guests began to arrive, Wade's excitement was palpable. He greeted everyone with his usual over-the-top enthusiasm, making sure to point out the matching flannel to anyone who would listen. Vanessa and Craig were the first to arrive, followed by Domino and the rest of X-Force, and finally, Laura, who rolled her eyes at Wade's antics but seemed genuinely happy to be there.

As the meal went on, it became clear that Wade was more interested in Logan than the food. He kept finding excuses to touch Logan, whether it was a hand on his thigh, a squeeze of his bicep, or a quick brush of his fingers against Logan's neck. Each touch was accompanied by a lewd comment, whispered just loud enough for Logan to hear.

"Mmm, Wolvie, you've been working out," Wade murmured as he ran a hand up Logan's thigh, his voice low and sultry. "Those biceps are looking extra delicious tonight. Think I could get a second helping later?"

Logan shot him a warning look, but Wade just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Logan's ear as he continued. "You know, this flannel really brings out your eyes. But I think it'd look even better crumpled up on the floor with you on top of me."

Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on his plate and ignore the heat pooling in his gut. He knew Wade was doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of him, but damn if it wasn't working.

Wade's hand slid up to Logan's chest, fingers tracing the muscles beneath the fabric. "I'm just saying, you could chop more than wood in this getup. Maybe later, you can give me a demonstration. I've got a few logs that need splitting."

Logan growled low in his throat, grabbing Wade's hand and squeezing it tightly. "Knock it off, Bub."

Wade shivered. "Oh, baby. Count me in as down and horny."

Logan's lips rose in a snarl.

Across the table, Vanessa raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension. "Everything okay over there?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

"Peachy!" Wade replied with a grin. "Just telling Logan how thankful I am for him. And everyone here."

Dopindor gave him a flat look, pushing the gravy boat toward NTW who glared viciously at him.

"Later, I'm gonna show him just how thankful I am," he said cheerfully. "And I'll give him a few things to be thankful for too. I promise." He purred in Logan's direction, and then clapped his hand down onto Logan's half hard dick.

Colossus choked on his turkey.

"I will tear you apart limb by limb, you absolute imbecile," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. 

Wade blinked, his eyes wide with faux innocence. "Oh, Peanut, you sweet talker. You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Before Logan could respond, Wade abruptly stood up, raising his glass in a dramatic toast. "Alright, folks, I've held my tongue long enough. It's time for some honesty. The truth is, Wolvie and I have been getting it on. Yep, regular old bone sessions. You twisted my arm, so there it is! Peanut and I are fucking on the regular!"

The room fell silent, all eyes on Wade as the weight of his words sank in. Vanessa nearly choked on her drink, and Craig's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Dopindor looked like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or facepalm, and Laura's expression was a mix of shock and horror.

"What?!" Laura finally shrieked, her voice echoing through the room. She looked from Wade to Logan, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're... what?"

Snikt

----------------------

Christmas. Maybe he'll propose on Christmas.

[thevoidscreams]

Hello!

I would like to see something with Mortarion. Pre heresy when he's feeling unloved as he's not quite living up to the emperor's vision for him. He's supposed to be the second strongest Psycher of the Primarchs yet he Refuses to use his power.

Even pre monster form I've always loved the idea that Mortarion is gardener/herbalist in his spare time. Collecting plants from conquered worlds and giving them a home in a personal green house of sorts.

A servant who is commonly sent to give him messages/retrieve him when needed strikes up a bond with him over his eclectic garden.

They marvel at his plant expertise and abilities. They give him an outlet to talk about his special interest in detail. They support his passions and even offer understanding about why he's uncomfortable using his magic.

Overtime spent in that humid greenhouse, both start to feel it, the attraction. The brief glances or gentle brushes of hands as they talk and work in unison.

Mortarion has never really felt anything like this. And so strongly! It frightens him. Frightens him because he fears chasing this small glimmer of happiness away if he oversteps.

But oh...Oh he dreams of the alternative. Of bodies pressed into intimate warmth, of kisses stolen quickly or bitten ravenously while he towers over his sweet one. It feels like he can barely control himself, and it's only getting worse.

Little does he know his little honey bee is already swooned to him, but they too fear overstepping. They're a baseline human, and Mortarion is a demigod like figure. He'd never view them in such a way.

They shall be content being his mortal confidant, his sidekick so to speak. They've even acquired a special gift for him to show their care (and sooth the heartache for a love that they believe will never be.) A beautiful floral specimen from their own home world. In their world's language of flowers these blooms represent eternal devotion and love.

Its a subtle way to confess their feelings, and also find closure. After all they're certain Mortarion doesn't know their planet's flower language.

... Now what happens when he turns out he Does.

(For making press March if its not clear. You do great stuff btw okay byyyyyy)

Day thirteen!!!

Pairing Mortarion x reader

Warnings: Sex, first-time sex for Mort, and two idiots in love.

Mortarion stared down at the pots in front of him. His hearts hammering in his massive chest.

The plant's colorful petals shine especially bright among the other plants. They were gifts after all that made they special. Even among all the strange and alien plants he’d gathered over the years.

He’d collected you much the same way, once nothing more than a go for, a messenger who he enjoyed seeing. Until he could no longer bear to see you go, wondering when he would see you next. If he ever saw you again at all. So he took you, just as he did his plants. Pulling rank to have you reassigned to his conservatory. Where you’d expressed a good deal of knowledge about plants. He was certain it had been the right move as you had seemed to grow into the role naturally.

He’d even made changes for you. Something he’d done for no others. Such as adding several water features with live animals. It made the place hum with new life. Mortarion would watch you buzz from one task to another, bust like a bee. It was how he took to calling you his honeybee. His sweet little bee.

As he pondered, the last words you spoke to the primarch bounced around his head.

‘They reminded me of you when I saw them.’ You said, offering him the gifts. His hands brushing yours not so accidentally as he took them. Lingering a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yep.’

‘And why is that?’

Your cheeks had tinged pink with a blush and it made him smile under his mask.

‘They just have a nice meaning.’ You told him quickly and ducked away to go prune some fruit trees.

His mind raced, a blue orchid, and a red rose. His mind pulled up the meaning of these plants but he was sure he must have misremembered. He’d gone to his study to find his old book about gifting plants and the symbolism of the colors and species.

He hadn’t misremembered. In fact he’d been spot on.

Orchids, the book had said, were a flower that could be symbolized by love, desire and sexuality. But could also be symbols of good luck, harmony, good health and good fortune. They were blue however. The rarest color form of orchid was blue and they were unique.

On its own the orchid wasn’t a dead give away and he could have pondered the meaning of it for a long time, with still no confidence to act.

But the roses. His hearts fluttered again. Roses had many meanings, all of which had multiple meanings. But red was impossible to mistake when given as a gift. They weren’t the pink of gratitude, or the yellow of friendship or even orange which could mean fascination.

You’d mentioned the meaning specifically when giving them to him.

And red, or at least in rose language, was meant to represent devotion, passion, romance, desire, and true love. It was a lover’s flower. Given to him by the one he loved so ardently it hurt.

He came back to himself as raindrops began to pelt the roof and shake him from his recollection. He stood lifting the potted plants and taking them to a place of prominence in his conservatory. Where all would see them and admire them.

He waited for you to return today. His thumb caressing the petal of the rose. Imagining it was your lip, soft and supple as you lay under his body.

He’d gone without his armor, only a mask to aid in his breathing.

HIs hands reached for a spade as he shook the images of you from his mind.

Instead he focused on his plants and their needs. Caring for them. Just as he would care for you. If you were his.

His mind continued to stir as he continued to plant, turning soil so that his lovely roses would be able to grow into a magnificent bush.

Would your love grow that way? Blooming as it took root and grew into something more.

The door to the flower garden opened and he heard you approach. He wondered if he should find you and confront you about the flowers you’d chosen.

He decided to let you work for a bit. Hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn’t scare you away. You were perhaps his only real chance at love.

He looked up at the glass windows high above and watched as the rain that fell in sheets across the glass.

The rose was planted and watered.

He would go find you now.

You had been trimming dead leaves from a butterfly bush. Helping so that hopefully the new growth would have a chance.

Mortarion had even said that he would let you have some butterflies to liven up the space once he was able to source them.

On the outside he was often grumpy. But inside you knew he was hurting. Despite that he took your help in the conservatory graciously and was kind to you.

Your hand stroked over one of the bicolored flower stocks. The purple and orange enchanting you.

Your mind drifted to the feeling of his hands on yours and the even rarer case of his hand on your back as he sometimes did to direct you.

They were so big, they’d easily be able to hold you. Easily cover your body as he… it felt like your face caught fire it got so warm.

You wished you could have just told him you loved him outright. But if he didn’t feel the same you ran the risk of his sending you away. Of him replacing you as his assistant and maybe.. Falling in love with the next one.

It hurt so bad to think about that you almost dropped your clippers. No, you would give him flowers, and keep the secret of your love in your heart. Where it would grow with every passing day till it consumed your whole self. LIke mint left unchecked, spreading to every corner of the garden that was your body.

“You’re here early.” The sound of his voice shocked you and you did drop your clippers. He reached out and snatched them, lightning quick despite his size. His font was pressed to your back and the heat of Mortarion’s body chased away the chill you’d gotten from the rain coming in.

“Yes. Thank you.” You turned to look up at him, slotting your clippers into your tool belt.. Eyes wide and warm.

“I was hoping to see where you put the plants I gave you.”

Mortarion nodded. “I just finished planting the rose.

HIs hand found its way to your back. GUiding you along and warming you. It felt nice and it made another wave of very unprofessional things come to mind.

He led you to the main display, which had been empty while the primarch decided what he wanted to put there. You gasped when you saw the rose. It was planted in the main display.

“I am still trying to find the best place to put the orchid. But I assure you it will be a main attraction as well. It is too beautiful to be off in some corner. Things that are beautiful should be seen and appreciated.”

His eyes were on you as he said the last part. Of course you didn’t see as you were breathless about how much he had enjoyed the gifts.

Mortarion swallowed and knelt next to you, even then he was an inch taller than you.

“I need to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me.”

You turned to face him, his yellow green eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah of course Mortarion, what up?” You felt unusually nervous.

“Why did you pick these blooms?” He asked seriously.

You told him you wouldn’t lie.

“If I’m honest with you, and you don’t like my answer..will you make me leave?”

Your eyes got a bit blurry as you pictured going back to your old life. Running messages and being yelled at for things that were in them despite them not being your fault. Or even worse, going back to a life without him. You didn’t want to lose any of what this place had to offer, but losing him might as well have been the same as dying.

“You will not. I promise you. You are far too important here to be rid of without serious cause.”

You nodded, slightly comforted.

“I got them for the meanings they hold.”

“ANd you know what they mean. Do you not?”

“I do.”

Mortarion figured as much, but his hearts were racing, he needed to hear you say it.

“Did you mean it? When you gifted me these plants knowing what they symbolized?”

“I did.” You brushed your hand over your arm. Certain you’d at the very least be laughed at. Who were you to make moves on a primarch of all people? You looked away. Mortarion was trembling.

You meant it. You really meant it.

His finger touched the bottom of your chin and turned you back to face him. His other hand came up to remove his mask. “I love you too.” He said softly.

Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words for a moment.

“You do?” You practically shouted.

Mortarion smiled. “I do.”

He took your hands and held them close to his chest. “Will you be mine, Honeybee?”

Your eyes widened and tears of joy dripped from your eyes. “Of course.”

You leaned in and kissed him.

Mortarion wrapped his arms around you. Your lips were every bit as loft and warm as he’d imagined on all those cold and lonely nights.

You stayed in each other’s embrace for a long minute, kissing one another with as the longing you’d both possessed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” You told him with a very dopey smile on your lips. Mortarion found himself falling in love all over again as he saw it and met it with one of his own.

“As have I.” the primarch told you.

“Well that and a few other things.” You admitted pressing your forehead to his.

“Such as?” He pressed, wondering if you were as desirous of him as he was of you.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, you supposed.

“Things like feeling your hands on me. Or being laid down on the soft moss carpets in the other room and taken by a big handsome primarch…one like you.”

It was Mortarion’s turn to look at you, jaw dropped.

“Unless you don’t want to or don’t feel that way.” You amended quickly.

Mortarion just chuckled and kissed you again. He’d had that same fantasy, of taking you on the mossy ground next to the main water feature as the high waterfall crashed into the water below swallowing your cries so only he’d be able to hear you.

He pulled away slowly.

“There are many places in this conservatory I’ve daydreamed about teaching you a new way to ‘pollinate’ a flower.”

Your stomach did a little flip and you leaned into him.

“Well I always want to learn more. I’d be happy to learn whatever you will teach me.”

Mortarion stood and scooped you up into his arms. He had just the place.

He’d waited so long to have you. To love you. And now that you were his he was feeling rather uncharacteristically impatient to show you just how much he longed for you.

In the room with a pond of fish he’d had made for you, really he wondered how you hadn’t known he’d loved you sooner, there was an old willow, it was currently in bloom.

He took you under its branches. They draped around the tree like a skirt and completely blocked the view of the trunk from the rest of the room.

Mortarion set you down and kissed you again. “I would like to have you, fully. If that is amiable to you.”

“It is. I’ve had many daydreams under this tree.” You giggled.

“As have I.” He agreed. “I will start this, so that you know what I have to give you, and if it is not to your liking, I will understand.” There was an undeniable air of sadness about the statement but you couldn’t imagine not liking him in any capacity.

He raised his shirt and pulled it off. He was leanly muscled but very defined and your hands immediately went to his chest. He continued with his pants. Pulling them down to reveal his pale body in all its glory.

You were struck by how stark yet beautiful he was, not a single bit of hair on him aside from the long white locks on his head.

He stood waiting for your judgment.

You gave it readily. “You’re beautiful Mortarion. I’ve never seen anything like you. And I don’t think I ever will anywhere else. Your body is perfect to me. In all of its aspects.”

Your hands ran down his form, touching him in a way he’d thought he’d only experience in dreams.

“Then you are not repulsed by me?” The pale giant asked.

“No, I really like it.” You assured him immediately.

You took a step back as he knelt again waiting. Your hands tugging your shirt up, he reached out to unclip your belt of tools, setting them aside. He eyed your chest as you tossed the shirt over with his clothes and began on your pants. Pushing them down.

You were left standing almost naked before him in only a bra and panties.

His hands went to your hips and his mouth found your throat kissing the tender skin and making you shiver with delight.

You hooked your finger into your panties pushing them down and letting them fall.

Mortarion grabbed you, pulling you down into his lap as he sat.

He ran his hands up and down your body learning every curve and dip.

When his hands came back up you back he gently unclipped the bra. You pulled it away. Mortarion drew in a breath. You were the stunning thing in this conservatory, he was certain of that. And you were his, all his to have and hold and love.

He patted his lap. “Turn for me?” You did, sitting with your back to his chest as he reached down to stroke your damp lips. “You're absolutely breathtaking.” He sighed, rubbing the rough pads of his fingers over your impossibly soft pussy. Loving every inch of it as he did.

One finger probed your entrance and, finding it plenty wet, slid the finger in.

The action drew a moan from you and your head fell back on his shoulder. Letting him work. The finger brushed over a few sensitive spots, the primarch was watching, learning from each gasp and adjusting till he had you writhing in his lap from pleasure wrought by his own hands.

Every squeak or sound of satisfaction made him work his hand a bit harder. “I can take another.” You panted, yearning for more of him inside you. He gave it. His ring finger joined the middle and stretched you out more as he continued to observe, halting at any sign of pain, and waiting till you were comfortable before starting again. It was a process of stop and start that had you half mad with need. Once he mistook a sharp inhale of pleasure for pain and you almost screamed not to stop.

Whether he realized it or not his care for you was causing the worst case of edging you’d ever experienced. Drool dripped down from the corner of your mouth. Your head lulled to the side and a soft whine bubbled up from somewhere inside you.

“Please, just like that. Don’t stop.” Mortarion pressed a kiss to your forehead, happy to keep it up.

“How are you feeling my Honeybee?”

“Close.” You told him honestly.

“I want to feel you come.” He peppered a trail of kisses from your face, down your neck and nibbled your shoulder.

That sent you over the edge. You came hard on his fingers, and he worked you through it, steady and comforting.

His finger left you and he brought them up to his lips, he licked the juices off. The flavor made his cock all the harder. You slid from his lap, turning around to face him.

You reached for his cock and he stiffened. No one had touched him this way before.

He knew how this should work. Buth knowing and doing were two separate things.

He watched you stroke his cock curiously. Your eyes fixed on his as you bite your lip. It made him want to jump you. And as nice as it felt to have you touching him, he wanted me.

“I would like to have you, to fill you.” He rasped, his voice getting a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Please.”

He raised you back up into his lap as it felt right.

Lining up his leaking cock with your leaking pussy he was hopeful that it would suffice for making things easier.

It did, as big as he was compared to you, he pushed in and met no resistance. You’d been ready since you’d last cum. As good as it was, it wasn't enough, you wanted more.

Letting your weight aid you, you speared yourself on his cock till you couldn’t fit a single bit more. He was longer than he was thick, but that wasn’t much of an issue given the fact that even being on the thinner side it was still more than enough to stretch you. Putting mind numbing pressure on all those delicious places inside you.

“Will it be sufficient for the task at hand my Honeybee?” He breathed, his own head a bit fuzzy from the perfect warmth wrapped around his cock.

“Absolutely. Fuck even your cock is perfect.”

He hugged you close and pressed his face into your shoulder.

You both sat like that, intimately embraced and ready to finally make good on a fantasy you’d both had countless times.

You moved first, using your footing on the grassy earth to raise yourself up and then drop.

Mortarion's hands swiftly went to your ass and hips, helping you to move.

It was everything he’d reamed and so much more.

Soon enough your efforts were taken over by your lover, he raised you with ease and pushed you back down onto his cock with fervor.

That was just fine with you though. You kissed him deeply and allowed him to explore your mouth as he fucked you.

“Damn it all. Why didn’t I tell you sooner?” He asked with a bitter little laugh.

“Great question.” You told him moaning as his cock kissed your cervix gently. “I should have told you as soon as I realized.”

“And when was that?” The primarch asked.

“That first week I worked with you.”

Mortarion cursed in a language you couldn’t understand.

“We might have been married by now if that was the case.” He felt like such a fool, for the last few years you’d both been a source of love and light in each other's lives.

“I suppose we’ll have to make up for all that lost time then.”

Mortarion moaned and hugged you tight again, thrusting his hips up into you.

You came again, the already wet slap of skin becoming even wetter.

Mortarion fucked you a minute longer. His body grew hotter and the coil in his belly winding tighter as he got ready to cum inside someone for the first time. It was completely different from his hand. The thrusts grew sloppy and he groaned as he came. Pushing into you to make sure not a drop was wasted.

Mortarion laid back in the grass under the willow, you rested on his chest as his cock slipped out. You were both spent. But very satisfied.

“I love you Mortarion.” You yawned quietly.

He smiled, it was genuine and warm and he’d never smiled like it before, it felt good to smile that way.

“I love you too, Honeybee.”

[soapflavoredtea]

Standards — Yuji Itadori (1)

Chapter One: Failed First Impressions

Pairing: Yuji Itadori x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Summary: After being scouted from abroad by the esteemed Yuuta Okkotsu, your once normal life takes many new turns as you learn to navigate the numerous issues that come with not only being a rookie sorcerer, but a Black girl in Japan.

Chapter Summary: Your first day in Japan is nothing short of eventful.

Content Warnings: Not beta read, so probably some typos

Series Masterlist

There were a plethora of ways you had expected your first day in Japan to go. Having spent fourteen hours on a plane that left you with nothing better to do than conjure up a list of everything that could go wrong, you were more than positive you had mapped out every scenario possible. Getting organ trafficked certainly wasn’t one of them but somehow ending up lost was–so the overlook canceled out.

The initial instructions given had been very straightforward. Exit the plane, find some guy named Ijichi, and the rest would be taken care of for you. So simple it was too good to be true. And it was.

When you had finally made it to the greeting area the said man was indeed there. Clad in a suit and tie holding a white sign that had your name neatly written in sharpie. He had been nice enough. Carrying your luggage to the vehicle and making small talk with you in English for the duration of the ride. However the problems started to arise when you had gotten to the destination. Prior to coming, you had never seen what Jujutsu High was supposed to look like, but you highly doubted it was the place you arrived at.

“We’re here,” Ijichi said, his thick Japanese accent lacing the words.

Your lips pursed.“This is the place?” There was nothing around safe from an abandoned looking building. If not for the cursed energy seeping out of it, the mucky green a big contrast from the light blue sky, you would’ve thought it was haunted. “And you’re sure?”

He nodded in response while he got out to open the car for you. Looking suspiciously apologetic as he did so. You made the mistake of putting your back to him while you gave the building another inspection. “So is this supposed to be the school or–”

The slamming of the car door followed up by the engine revving interrupted your sentence. It had taken you longer than a couple seconds to process what had just happened. And by the time you finally did the driver was long gone.

There was a nice bench that you deemed as a perfect spot to wallow in your shame and misery so you did. And now here you are, deserted somewhere in Japan with not even a dollar to your name and a dead phone in your pocket.

After a couple of moments you came to the conclusion that this had all been one huge organ trafficking scheme that you had fallen victim to. If you were to be knocked out in one moment and woken up in an ice bath the next–you wouldn’t even be that mad. Whatever crime syndicate that had been in charge of this operation deserved your kidneys as kudos. It was all so convincing. Like heck, they had even given you a whole uniform.

You just stared at the ground. Contemplating whether to curse Yuuta when you died, for putting you in this situation or Ijichi for getting you there. 

“Ah, there she is!”

The headlines were already forming in your head. Foreign high schooler goes missing because she was too dumb to realize she was getting scammed. You just hoped that the photo they used for your missing poster wouldn’t have you looking busted. Multiple pairs of footsteps were starting to draw closer and closer. This was really it for you.

You were too tired for any sense of panic to hit you so you sunk your head in defeat. Contemplating whether to curse Yuuta when you died, for putting you in this situation or Ijichi for getting you there. 

“—Helloo. Is anyone home?”

Your head slowly rose to the man who would be the culprit of your soon to be kidnapping slash murder. The guy was tall. It took quite a bit for your neck to crane to the point where you could get a full view of him. A blindfold and spiked snow white hair. Gojo. You had never met the man but basing off Yuuta’s many stories of him, there was no mistaking it. Next to him stood three teenagers, who all bore the same uniform as you. “She’s alive!”

Gojo gestured to you with jazz hands. “This is the last first year. [Last Name] [Name]. Per Yuuta’s recommendation she will be joining us. Isn’t that right, [Name]-chan~.”

The shock of today not being your last on Earth finally wore off. With a newfound appreciation of life you shot up to your feet. “Oh..um…yes,” you huffed out, the words for some reason coming out breathlessly which you accredited to the adrenaline. Yuuta and old faithful (Google) always told you that bowing was a common custom in Japan, so now would probably be a better time than any to do it. “Please…please take care of me?”

You could feel the trio staring down at you. Their silence to your introduction only proving your gut feeling right and that you had probably done something wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact you were Black your face would’ve been the deepest shade of red of all time. The cramping in your back was growing by the second.

“[Last Name]...you can get up now,” a stoic voice spoke.

“Right,” you coughed out, straightening up. A ‘pft’ broke through the silence. The source being from the salmon haired boy that was miserably failing to hold in a laugh. Hoping you left a better impression on the one other girl in your group, your attention shifted to her—who’s expression more or less mirrored his. The last first year wasn’t looking at you. You were unsure of how to take that but chances were it wasn’t good.

Well shit.

A pair of hands found a home on their shoulders and shook you back and forth with a gentle playfulness. “What are you guys waiting for,” Gojo asked, “introduce yourselves to your new classmate!”

“Fushiguro Megumi,” the stoic voice from earlier said. Still barely giving you a glance.

The one with a red hood pointed to himself, “I’m Itadori Yuji.”

"Kugisaki Nobara,” the sole girl started, “glad to see this group won't be too unfortunate now that there's another woman."

Whatever was said by your teacher after you didn’t catch, only something about a curse, before Kugisaki and Itadori started making their way into the worn-down building. You were about to (reluctantly) follow suit before Gojo teacher called out to you.

 "Kugisaki Nobara, glad to see this group won't be too unfortunate now that there's another woman," she proudly declared.  

"Oh, [Name] you're fine you don't have to go in," Gojo assured, beckoning you over to where he and Fushiguro were sitting, which was the bench you had previously been at.

It didn't take long before you started zoning out again during another one of your teacher's rambles. The jet lag was finally starting to hit you and you couldn't even be bothered to translate his little lecture on jujutsu sorcery. 

"-me] is plenty crazy, well at least from what Yuuta has told me. Though I do eventually want to test it out for myself I know you're tired from the flight so I'll give you a pass today." He said gleefully, giving you a thumbs up.

“Thank you?”

At the mention of your name you perked up quickly replying with a nod, "Speaking of Okkotsu-senpai, how is he?" The first year asked.  

“From last I saw he’s doing well. His eye bags have probably gotten worse since then.”

Shattering glass rang out and a curse was escaping out one of the windows.

"I'll exorcise it," Fushiguro said, standing up ready to fight. 

Gojo waved him off, "Wait." At his words the once flying curse was hit by a few nails before incinerating into thin air. "Nice, she's crazy all right." 

“Um Gojo…sensei. Not to be rude but when are we heading back to the dorms?” You asked.

“Soon,” he replied with a smirk. You hoped he meant actually soon and not your parent’s version that would be three hours later. Seeing the two first years finally exit the building with a little boy a couple moments after, it was good to see he was talking in a literal sense. While your classmates took the elementary schooler back to his house you moved to a set of stairs so you wouldn’t be too far from them. It’d be a lie to say that you weren’t still a bit on edge about being in a new country. 

"Did you know that I get into a foul mood when I'm hungry?" You jumped at the sudden voice not even noticing when Kugisaki and Itadori joined you at your space on the steps. 

"Well we made sure the kid got home so let’s grab some food!” Gojo said. 

"Steak!"

"Sushi!" 

"Leave it all to me! And you [Name]? Megumi?" Fushiguro ignored him, too busy scrolling through his phone to acknowledge his teacher. 

"As long as I don’t have to pay, I’m fine with whatever," you yawned. 

"Okay, let's go!"

After another one of Itadori and Kugisaki's arguments the four of you happily agreed on steak joint, much to Fushiguro's dismay, and were now heading to it. All the boys were walking in the front leaving you with the brunette in the back. It was painfully silent between the two of you. Neither bothering to take the first step in killing the awkward moment.

"So-" 

"[Last Name], right? I like your," she made a gesture at her own bob," hair. It's really pretty."

At the unexpected compliment you grinned,"Thanks, yours too." 

"How tacky do you think the dorms are gonna be?"

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #1: Javier Peña - Apology Kiss

Starting this one off with our favorite DEA agent and a request that goes a little against the grain for him. Thank you for requesting this, Anon!

Not connected to any other Javi Peña I've written and takes place after the events of the show. Written with a female Reader in mind.

Word Count: 1582

Rating: M? A little angsty, a couple mentions of Javi's informant escapades.

Javier Peña  didn’t do romance. He didn’t even usually do relationships in the traditional sense, especially after the way things had ended with Lorraine and the way his life had played out in Colombia.  

But when it came to you, he tried, even though it took him some time to accept the idea.

Years spent with the DEA, living minute to minute in foreign countries and never knowing whether or not the day would be his last had put things into perspective, though it had taken until well after he was back in Texas for the meaning of the words live in the moment to really sink in. 

At first, your gentle “let me know when you make it home” requests had bothered him. He wasn’t used to anyone that wasn’t a colleague or his father acting concerned about his whereabouts. And the way you weren’t willing to let one syllable answers and non-committal grunts speak for him when you asked how his days were rubbed him the wrong way, too, because it meant having to open up in ways that he wasn’t familiar with in order to answer.

But what had taken him the longest to get around were all of the little ways you were constantly attempting to care for him, and how useless - and frustrated - it made him feel. 

Javier knew he was a capable man. After all, he’d been lead on two of the most important busts led by the DEA in recent years. He’d managed to infiltrate cartels and offshoots of cartels and play both sides successfully without getting himself killed. He’d built and maintained a network of informants; some of them women whose company he enjoyed and others regular citizens desperate to change something, no matter how small what they had to offer in the way of information was. 

But when your patience shone through - you more than willing to explain the basics of cooking or why it was important not to just toss every article of clothing together into the same temperature water and hope for the best or when you suggested working your way through all of the movies and music that he’d missed out on instead of just starting with what was out now - it really made him feel like an asshole. 

And being an asshole was definitely not something that Javier Peña was comfortable with. 

He’d met you a few months after coming home for good. Javier was sitting on a bench at one of the many parks overlooking the Rio Grande while he waited until it was time to pick Chucho up from a meeting he had scheduled downtown about the ranch. You approached cautiously with one hand raised and extended, voice carrying even though you kept your distance. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my watch battery stopped … could you tell me what time it is?” 

His answer had relieved you - your shoulders sagging as you thanked him. For the next fifteen minutes the two of you made small talk, Javier the one that had to say goodbye first - but not before you asked him if you could give him your number, just in case he ever wanted to use it. 

He was used to women approaching him, but there was nothing desperate or cliche about your interest. Not only had he taken your number when you handed it to him on a piece of paper ripped from a pocket sized notebook in your bag, he’d given you his in return, black ink and his name scrawled in ballpoint pen over another page. 

From there, the connection grew, and it didn’t take long for either of you to realize that it was a real one. 

It was friendly at first, the two of you meeting for lunch or a single drink once a week, and then it progressed, Javier inviting you to see the ranch and you offering your couch and VCR in return, along with an almost endless supply of popcorn and the kind of fizzy drinks and sweet treats he hadn’t let himself indulge in in years.

You initiated the first kiss, and he didn’t discourage it - lips meeting for the first time on the sidewalk outside of some chain restaurant whose Tuesday night special boasted the best wings in town. From there, everything escalated. 

One night a week turned into two, and that turned into three or four, split between your place and his. You met Chucho, the man delighted by your presence and immediately launching into stories about Javier as a child whenever you came into view. 

He met your friends and some of your family too - bumping into them while you were out, or stopping to drop something off before the two of you set out for a long drive through the flatland east of the city on your days off. 

The more comfortable things got, the more uneasy he became at just how easy it would have been to get used to things being that way all the time… if he’d let it. And so when Javier showed up at your place late one night, his well-worn leather jacket snug against his frame to end it, he didn’t bother telling you the truth behind the decision. 

He told you everything but the truth instead, spitting out that he was a grown fucking man and that he didn’t need someone to coddle him all the time, and that it seemed like you were getting too goddamn comfortable making decisions for him before turning to walk away, shoulders straight as he made his way back to the truck. 

He didn’t relax until almost a mile down the road. 

You’d barely reacted to his words aside from recoiling and blinking a few times, one hand gripping the door frame as he shook his head, words pouring from his mouth in the hazy glow of your porch light. And when he turned to go, you hadn’t stopped him, Javier picking up an almost silent “Be careful, Javier,” as he walked away from you. Those three words were what he focused on while he drove. 

And what he kept focusing on as he swerved suddenly, turning around with a squeal of tires against loose gravel, the journey back to your house made with his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

He didn’t ever apologize. He’d learned it was useless, because an apology wouldn’t bring back someone after they were shot. It wouldn’t unexplode a bomb, or keep someone from overdosing on cocaine. Sorry was just a word, and he’d gotten so used to hearing everyone else around him constantly apologize that the word itself made his lip curl. 

But for you, he’d try to prove that he really was apologetic for the way he’d treated you because he was scared of the alternative - as long as you’d let him. 

Javier parked his truck in your driveway and gripped the wheel for a few seconds, taking two long breaths - and then headed for your front door, his heart pounding. 

You answered after a single knock, the expression on your face sad, the hurt in your eyes evident. But you didn’t slam the door in his face, and that was a start. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” 

It stuck in his throat but he meant it, the man’s eyes narrowing for a second before he continued. “I’m not used to this. I couldn’t be used to this, and now it’s…” Squeezing his eyes shut, Javi shook his head from side to side. “Truth is that I’ve never had anyone treat me like you do before, and I’m still getting used to it. Scares the hell out of me how much I want to get used to it, actually, because -”

“Javier.” You reached out, laying your hand against his cheek. “I accept your apology. We’re going to have to have a conversation about all of the things you said,and what you meant but -”

“I really am sorry.” He said it again, and that time the words came smoothly, the furrow of his brows easing as he realized he truly meant it. “We’ll talk about it whenever you want.”

“Come inside.” You smiled at him, gesturing to the hallway behind you with your other hand. “I just finished making popcorn. Figured it wouldn’t take you long to come back, and -” Of course you did.

He moved before you finished, both of Javier’s hands rising to cradle your face between them as he tilted your face to kiss you. 

There was no hesitation on your part, the soft sigh that escaped you when your mouths met the final thing he needed to truly relax. 

It wasn’t a prelude to a frenzied removal of clothes or the two of you making your way to the couch, only unzipping and pushing what was necessary to the side. It wasn’t to keep you from prying or to keep himself from having to make an excuse or avoid a conversation.

It was just a kiss because he wanted to kiss you, and when he pulled back enough to murmur the words a third time - I’m so sorry - you nodded, tugging on his belt to pull him fully into your house and then pushing the door shut behind him. 

At the sound of the quiet click, your lips still flush with his, Javier smiled without stepping back, thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. He still didn’t like apologies, but part of him was very thankful for the opportunity to make them to you - no matter how many it took.

---

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Ex-Wife!Reader

♡ Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it. (warnings will be added as story progresses).

…

“Alright! They’re here.” Maverick drops the curtain back into place and turns back towards his granddaughters. “Be cool.”

Peyton looks up, scrunches her nose just a fraction — she takes a moment to analyse what this might entail. Maverick sits back against the couch and opens his book up, picking a random page a couple of chapters in, settling into his position. Parker settles in equally easily, she drops down so that she’s sitting cross-crossed and immediately gets to work penciling in answers on her worksheet. Peyton inhales, then almost forgets to exhale, her mind racing as the sound of footsteps on the porch ring out over the top of Maverick’s soft soul album playing.

Finally, she drops down next to her sister and grabs a pencil.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Mav,” You muse, breathing out softly as you follow Bradley up onto the porch. It’s been forever since you’ve even been here, you’ve only seen Maverick a handful of times since you divorced Rooster. He was always kind to you. “He might not even recognise me.” You joke.

Rooster almost scoffs. Recognise you? — He hardly ever shuts up about you. It’s a good thing, probably, that his friends and family are so fond of you. It means he picked a good person to share his life with. It just makes things even more difficult now that the two of you have decided to go your own ways.

“He’s not that old.” Rooster settles with instead, keeping things lighthearted as he turns the door handle and opens the front door. He steps in first and holds the door open behind him for you. Taking a few steps forwards, he has a good view into the living room on the left.

The girls are both sitting on the floor, working on some school work together. Peyton’s helping her sister with math. Maverick is reading a fictional romance novel. One of Penny’s. Peyton is way worse than Parker at math. Damn it.

Maverick glances up from his book and even through the suddenly blurred lenses of his reading glasses, he can see the disappointment on Rooster’s face. Busted. But, as far as Rooster knows, this just means that the three of them spent the afternoon having fun and watching TV. Which isn’t entirely incorrect.

“Hi, Mav.” You step around Rooster sheepishly and lift your hand, waving it at him. Rooster looks you up and down, brows scrunching slightly. This is the man who drove you to the hospital when you were in labour and Rooster was an hour away in traffic. The same one who held you whilst you sobbed at the thought of not being a good enough mother and told you it was all going to be okay. The first person that the two of you told you were expecting.

And here you are, acting like he has become a stranger.

There are lots of aspects of divorce that hurt more than Rooster was expecting them to. Those hour long gaps in his Sundays now that he doesn’t have to go and put gas in your car. Getting home from work on a night that the girls are with you and his home being empty.

Now, Rooster doesn’t have much of a family. It was just Mav for a little while, and then Penny and Amelia came along. But, then he had you — and the girls, and you were all a big family. Now, Maverick is someone that you can only awkwardly say hello to. No longer family.

“Hey, honey! How’ve you been?” The book is discarded and Maverick is pushing himself up off of the couch, arms opened and walking towards you. Your body unstiffens, exhaling quickly as you let him envelope you in a hug. It takes everything in you not to rush out a pained ‘oh my god, I thought you hated me’.

Your mind jumbles, searching for the right words as Maverick squeezes you. He’s greyer than the last time you saw him, he still smells like the same cologne he wore when you met him. That means Penny’s still unsuccessful in making him stop buying the same pine scented spray that he wore in the eighties.

“Good! I’m — busy, but I’m good.” You manage out. He pulls back to look at you, catching your arms like you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t ground you right here with him. He looks over your face fondly. Both of you a little bit older, probably none the wiser.

Pete grins and nods his head. “I’m glad, I’m so glad.”

Rooster looks between the two of you, then back at the kids looking up at them curiously. As he glances back to Maverick, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the old man starts spouting off some crap about how the two of you would probably be happier together.

“Mav, could we have a second alone with the kids? — We still have to get them home before their bedtime and stuff.” Rooster reminds his uncle gentle. Maverick jumps to his senses and pulls back nodding.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll — I’m going to go and start making dinner for Penny. I’ll be in the kitchen.” As he turns, his back to the two of you, his eyes on the kids, Maverick gives them an overzealous wink. It’s up to them from here on out. Then, he leaves and heads for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Bradley moves first. He walks calmly into the living room and sits down in front of the two of them. You follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, the four of you looking at each other.

Finally, you’re the first to speak. “First, your dad and I just wanted to say that we’re glad you two can talk to each other, and that you wanted to help out your sister. But you know that this was completely the wrong way to go about it. Right?”

“We know…” Peyton agrees dejectedly, guilt in her tone and her body language as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.

You do your best not to make it a lecture, knowing that they’ll just zone out if you drone on at them too much. They’re still little and long lectures can be draining on their developing minds. You do your best to engage, asking them questions, keeping them involved.

It’s clear that they know what they did was wrong. You’ve got a sneaking feeling that this probably won’t be the last time they do something like it, but for now it’s resolved either way.

They’re going to write an apology to their teachers for switching classes again. You and Rooster had been texting about this all afternoon, you’ve considered making them write an apology to William — but he’s kind of a little asshole and his mother is even worse.

You check your watch and it’s already a little after seven. Their bedtime is eight. Luckily, Mav gave them dinner, so all you have to do is get them home and into bed. Then, you can get started with the mountain of work that you have left to do tonight.

“Alright, go say goodnight to Grandpa Mav, we should get going.”

“Can I drive home with Dad?” Parker asks suddenly. A quick glance towards your ex-husband, clearly tired after the day, relaxed back against the couch. He moved a while ago, complaining that sitting on the floor was hurting his back. You shake your head quickly.

“No, not today. It’s out of his way, and you two need to get to bed soon.”

“I just wanted to talk to him about the stuff with Billy,” She turns those big brown eyes towards Rooster and looks up at him, guilt filled and sorrowful. “I feel bad for not telling you about it. Can we talk?”

You open your mouth to correct her. Rooster, already suckered, sits forwards and nods his head. “Yeah, Peanut. We can talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, it’s—“

“It’s alright, I can take them back with me and we’ll just meet you at your place.” Rooster decides, running his fingers through his auburn hair and sitting up, readying to stand.

For the millionth time that day, your children catch you off guard. Peyton looks up, scowling, completely serious as she shouts, “No, I want to go with Mom!”

Rooster glances across at you, then back at her. Ultimately, he shrugs — it has been a long day and the twins’ favourite parent switches up routinely, he has learned to just take it in his stride. “Alright, so we’ll take one each. Just me and you, Parks.”

You’re more skeptical of this behavior, and your daughters recognise it immediately. You squint as you look between the two of them, and their sweet little faces. They’re probably up to something, but like their dad, you’re exhausted and don’t have time to investigate.

“Okay. One each.” You agree with a tired shrug, pushing yourself up from the floor. The girls rush off to say their goodbyes to Maverick, Bradley thanks him for watching them, then you’re all bundling out to the cars. You pause at the realization that Rooster has his bronco.

He catches your scowl as you pass him one of the booster seats. “She’ll be fine, I’ll drive slow.”

“I can take her, it’s not a problem.” You shake your head at the thought of her climbing up into that almost fifty year old, mostly metal, box. Rooster has always defended that truck to you, insisting that it’s safe. Still, you had made him buy something safer for when he has the kids. Their booster seats are still in the backseat of the fourth gen dodge Ram on his driveway, he never takes them in this.

“I’m going with Dad.” Parker insists. You both turn, looking up to find her already climbing on the side of the truck, having lifted herself up onto the step, now struggling to get the door open.

“We’ll see you at your place.” Rooster nods. With that, he turns away from you and wraps and arm around Parker’s middle, scooping her off of the side of his truck and opening the door with her under one arm.

You swallow softly and slide into the driver’s side of your car. Before you’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Peyton pipes up from behind you. “Was it weird being at Grandpa Mav’s house? — Did you guys used to be friends?”

“Alright, you buckled in?” Rooster looks up and checks his rear view mirror, finding his daughter’s smiling face looking back at him. He misses seeing those faces every day. She nods calmly and tugs at the seatbelt to prove it. Rooster nods, turning the radio down a little so that he’ll be able to hear her. The soft top cover will help, since the wind won’t be in their ears.

“Did you see that Mommy got her hair cut? — I like it like that, it’s pretty.” Parker comments, dragging her backpack across the seat towards her and starting to rifle through it as Bradley pulls away from the curb. He glances up at her through the mirror, brows scrunching just slightly, lips quirked.

“I thought we were going to talk about this Billy kid.” He reminds her.

“We are,” She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her notebook from the backpack, along with a blue pencil. “I’m just saying, Mommy looked really pretty today, don’t you think?”

“Your Mom always looks pretty. Just like you, Peanut.” At first glance, it’s a nice thing to say. But, it’s what he always says. With the two of them sharing so many of your features, he’d never dream of saying anything bad about the way you look. Not that he has anything bad to say anyway. Still, Parker is looking for something a little better than that.

She stares at him, squinting for a moment, then persists. “Yeah. But don’t you think she looks especially pretty now?”

Rooster glances up again, lips quirking more, brows scrunching in amused confusion at the serious expression on her face. “Yeah, I guess. — What’s this about?”

“I’m just asking. Don’t you think about Mom when you aren’t with her?” Parker frowns, folding her arms over her chest. Rooster pulls to a stop at a red light and looks back at his daughter, baffled. He always knew that getting a divorce was going to bring up some questions from the kids, he just wasn’t expecting this level of interrogation today.

He gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I think about you guys all the time. Y’know, how you’re doing, if you’re safe—“

“No, not us. Mommy.” Parker interrupts. Rooster glances back again, finding her staring back at him with her pencil resting on the page, her expression impatient. He pulls away from the now green light and shifts in his seat, completely confused.

“Um… yeah, I guess I think about her when we aren’t together. Parks, where’s all this coming from?” He frowns.

“Nowhere. So, anyway… Billy.” She tosses the notebook to the side and rests her hands in her lap.

Peyton twirls a curl around her finger, bopping her head to the lyrics of a song from the noughties. “I just think it’s cool that Daddy gets to fly planes. Did you think it was cool when you met him?”

When you met Rooster, you were still a bartender, working part time in a local boutique. You worked for Penny back then. You were somewhat young, especially impressionable — and he was perfect. Tanned skin, sunglasses and sea-salt tangled curls, asking you how your weekend was going every week.

Listening to your stories, asking you out, telling you about his adventures. It was all so quick in the beginning and yes, he was so cool.

“He was alright.” You answer back, glancing up into the rear view mirror with a soft smile toying at your lips. Peyton grins, she knows what that means.

She’s heard this story a million times and yet she asks again, “What was your first date like?”

Things with Rooster had never been exactly traditional. You’d already slept with him a couple of times before he finally murmured into your skin that he wanted to take you out for real, that he needed to know more about you.

But, that aspect obviously remains between just you and Rooster. You tell your kids about the date by the beach, him trying to impress you with somewhat of a picnic. Pushing him over in the water, him carrying you back to the car when you cut your foot on a rock by the shore.

He was so attentive in the beginning.

By the time you’re pulling onto the driveway, you check the rear view mirror and Peyton’s got her head leaned against the car door, lips parted, dead asleep. You smile softly, shaking your head as you unbuckle yourself and let yourself out.

Rooster pulls up as you close the door behind you. He turns off the ignition and hops down from the truck, standing under the glow of a streetlight.

“Parker’s asleep, I’ll carry her in.” He calls to you, already walking around to grab her door. You shake your head fondly as you turn back towards your car.

“Peyton too.” You chuckle.

Rooster unbuckles his daughter and lifts her into one of his arms, grabbing her backpack from the backseat with the other. He tucks her in against his side, her head lulling onto his shoulder, not stirring from her sleep in the slightest.

You groan as you hoist Peyton up onto your hip, struggling to balance her and shut the car door at the same time. It tugs at your heart strings as you realise out loud, “They’re going to be too big for us to do this soon.”

Rooster chuckles and steps around you to shut the car door for you. He makes it look so easy. “No, they’re going to be too big for you to do this soon. I’ve got a couple more years.”

You hug her closer to you, struggling to keep her tight against you, wondering when she got so big as you fumble for your keys in the tight back pocket of your shorts.

“I’ve got it.” Nudging your wrist out of the way, Rooster dips his hand into your back pocket and takes the keys. It’s a quick interaction, probably not him trying to cop a feel — it’s too fleeting for that, but it leaves you stunned nonetheless. He works the door open and glances back to check that you’re coming, still balancing your daughter with ease as he sets the keys on the end table inside.

Realising quickly that you must look like an idiot just standing there and staring at him, your feet carry you forwards and you kick the door shut behind you. He carries Parker up the stairs ahead of you. It hasn’t been that long since he lived here, it looks kind of different — the pictures on the stairway wall are different, but not unfamiliar.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door to their room open. Now, this is different. White walls dotted with little painted blue flowers, big-girl beds. Long gone is the nursery and toddler furniture that the two of you had filled this room with. It makes sense, their room at his place isn’t that different from this one, but still, he wonders why you didn’t ask him to help.

He sets Parker down on the bed closest to the door, slipping her shoes off of her feet and dropping them down to the floor beside her bedside table. The room would be bigger if they had bunk beds, but after last summer’s top bunk fight, you had forever abandoned that idea.

“I’ll go switch the car seats back over, if you wanna get them ready for bed.” Rooster says gently as you walk past him to set Peyton down in her own bed. You lift your head and nod gratefully at him across the dark room. Leaning forwards, you flick the switch for Peyton’s nightlight, it’s soft white glow illuminating the room enough for you to see the smile on his face.

“Thanks. Could you come back in afterwards? — I wanted to talk to you about something.” You’re busy unlacing Peyton’s tennis shoe and so you don’t notice the elated smile that’s on her face as she feigns unconsciousness. Rooster nods calmly.

“Sure. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Getting them both into their pyjamas, tucking them safely under their covers and slipping their respective stuffed animals in with them, kissing them both goodnight, it’s all part of the usual routine. Rooster’s leaning against the kitchen counter when you return back downstairs, arms folded over his chest as he frowns at the sink.

Slowly, you come to a stop a little bit away from him, unsure of how to say what comes next. You inhale, fiddling with your hands in front of you. He isn’t even looking at you, it’s like he knows already.

“Does it always drip like that?” He asks, pushing himself up and crossing the room to inspect the faucet. Your lips part, brows furrowing slightly. You hadn’t even noticed. He cranes his neck to get a better look. “You should’ve said, I can fix it this weekend or something, if you’re around.”

“Um… I actually wanted to see if you were free this weekend.” You explain calmly. Parker’s mouth gapes open as she and her sister huddle together at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to the soft conversation happening a room away. Rooster glances at you over his shoulder, just as taken back by the idea as his kids are. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

Rooster turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on the wooden countertop. “Me? — Who would you want - Oh. You’re seeing someone?”

Realisation covers his face; it’s neither a good or bad reaction, and after years of knowing him as intimately as you do - did - you wish you could tell. You try to act as natural as he does about it.

“Well, I’ve been on a few dates with someone,” You explain gently. It’s a sensitive topic, telling your ex that you’re trying to move on. You’re not naive, you know that Rooster has hooked up with people since the divorce, you have too. But it’s different now, it’s bigger. “I really like him, and I’m thinking of introducing him to the girls. But I want you to meet him first.”

Parker slaps a hand over her sister’s mouth to contain the gasp, both of them ducking behind the railing by the stairs, like they won’t be seen through the gaps. They exchange looks, a thousand thoughts at once, plans being drawn up internally already.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, bar the sound of the faucet dripping behind him. His eyes, a dark hickory, search over your features. It’s unclear exactly what answer he’s searching for in your expression, but it doesn’t take him long to find it.

“Alright,” He nods his head. He signed those divorce papers just like you did. He was there for the custody hearing, the division of assets, explaining it to the kids. Rooster’s been present and aware of what this divorce means every step of the way. It’s been two years of pretty much radio silence. Neither one of you have exactly hidden the little flings you’ve had in the meantime, but you’ve kept that from the kids and you haven’t made a point of telling each other either.

Rooster’s trusted your judgment for as long as he has known you. If you think you’ve found someone worth introducing to the kids, then he should be happy. It wouldn’t be fair to hold you back.

He gives another curt nod, “That’s… it’s great. Congratulations.”

Your racing heart settles just slightly at his approval. Its pace slows but the pounding remains the same as you slowly raise your eyebrows at him. “So, this weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m free.” He agrees, nodding his head slowly. He taps his fingers on the countertops and glances around the home that the two of you had bought together just under a decade ago, silently wondering if your new boyfriend has been over.

It’s nothing to be upset about, the divorce was for the best, you both agreed that there shouldn’t be any hard feelings about it — these things happen. But, still.

“So, what’s he like?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet. “Um… well, he’s a carpenter, and he owns a DIY place down the street from my store. His name’s Chris, he’s about our age. He’s nice, I think you two would get along.”

Not a convict, not too old or too young for you, owns his own business. Rooster can’t find much to complain about. Peyton’s brows furrow as she waits for her dad to fix this, to tell you to stop seeing that guy and be with him instead. Rooster’s face softens as he nods his head again.

“He sounds great,” He decides finally, his voice gentle as he takes a step towards you and opens his arms. “I’m really happy for you.”

You exhale deeply, relieved as he wraps you in a loose hug, every fibre of the interaction platonic. Just as quickly as you’re tucked in his strong, warm arms, he lets you go again.

“Text me a time and a place, the three of us can do something this weekend,” Rooster brushes some loose curls back off of his forehead and squeezes your arm as he steps past. Parker sighs, leaning her head back, crushed. He’s doing it all wrong. “And… um, thanks for keeping me in the loop about all this. I really appreciate it.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile as you nod at him. His footsteps grow closer, reminding the girls that they’re supposed to be in bed. It’s a quiet scramble, trying not to trip over each other as they race back to their bedroom.

…

@fadingbelieverexpert @jessirosebud @cowboybarbie @pinkpantheris @thedroneranger @a-serene-place-to-be @xoxabs88xox @unordinare

[elementaskylos345]

Dread Within the Cabin

An Island of the Slaughtered fanfic

In an effort to seek temporary sanctuary from the torment of Wawanakwa Island and its restless and angered spirits, Chris McLean falls head first out of the kettle and into the fire.

|TW| firearms, disassociation |TW|

Chris slammed the door behind him, breathing heavily as he backed away from the door, eventually bumping into a workbench and leaning on it. His eyes flicked to look towards the busted window - wisps of thin light crept around the side closest to the door. All then fell silent.

The light then faded, leaving Chris alone. After at least a minute he finally let go of the breath he was holding, lightheadedness swimming in his skull.

“Fucking hell…” He murmured as he fell to the floor. He groaned and shifted himself, resting his arms on his knees, staring at the ground. His face was dirty, bruised, and cut while his hair was rugged and unkempt. He'd spent… two or so days lost and unable to find his team. Even where he knew they'd be, they weren't there. It's as if the island itself was keeping him away, tormenting him with spirits.

He left them here with a killer, he knew he did, but he was coming to save them now. Doing the right thing in the end is what matters, right? Like living a life of sin but turning to Christ - God will forgive.

He let out a stressed laugh. Then a chuckle. And then more laughter.

Chris didn't believe in God. But he was still right by coming here and rescuing the remaining teenagers. Hell, maybe after they all get through this he could do some interviews and finally get eyes back on him-

Chris jolted as a TV in the corner flicked on. Its screen was cracked and bloodied… as well as the cart it sat upon. He squinted as he slowly stood up and inspected it from afar, not daring to get any closer. It wasn't just blood that was on the TV there also seemed to be… hair… maybe a bit of flesh… on the corner. Chris felt sick to his stomach.

Death was all over this island now yet he hadn't grown numb to it. Maybe it was the constant terror, maybe it was his mind still not being caught up.

Through the static Chris saw… something. A face maybe? Glasses? He couldn't quite tell, not at this distance. The screen then turned off before flicking back on again. He tilted his head in confused suspicion, taking in the now clear image. It was an image familiar to him. A hint of nostalgia surrounding days in the arcade came to mind.

The familiar green vector graphics on that black background with the angular text. Battlezone. He'd spent far too long in the arcade playing this - it was very impressive back then. He snapped back to reality and to the fear he should be feeling. Chris squinted his eyes and slowly approached before stopping, looking out the window… he felt the need to block that off… he just felt eyes on him from over there. Be it Beth or Justin he didn't care either way he didn't want anyone looking at him without his knowledge.

So Chris took a few minutes to crudely cover the window with a nearby tarp, using a few nails quietly hammered into place to keep it up. It wouldn't last but it would do. As he stepped off of the ladder he nearly had a heart attack when he noticed the cart and TV had moved to be next to him. The ladder clattered to the floor in response to him practically jumping off of it. He took a moment to breathe, staring at the ominous mechanical box before him. The days old blood that lined the left side of the TV and pooled at its base made him uneasy.

Chris huffed as he finally gathered himself, more closely inspecting the TV while still not daring to lay a hand on it or the cart. The first thing he noticed was the atari controller sat gently on top of the box TV, inviting him to pick it up and begin playing. His eyes followed the cable downwards to the atari console. Then the consol plugged into the TV. All was well so far.

But the TV wasn't plugged in. It didn't have a cord to plug with and this shack currently had no power.

Chris shuddered at the realization. As if the situation couldn't get more supernatural. His eyes fell onto the controller and how it beckoned for him. It insisted. It was for him. He nearly picked it up… but hesitated. If he's going to be distracted he needs to be able to defend himself… that's partially why he came here in the first place - to arm himself.

So he left the TV and moved back over to the workbench. There were what you'd expect - hammers, saws, screwdrivers, the like… but there were also a few firearms. Hunting rifles and a shotgun. Damn. He'd forgotten to move them into his home before filming… or maybe this was one of the restricted shacks used for set building and such? It didn't matter now and he didn't care to remember. He just picked up a crowbar and walked back over to the TV to grab the controller.

…

“What am I doing?” He asked himself before stepping away. Yeah, what WAS he doing? He huffed. “Playing a clearly haunted game on an island full of ghosts that want to kill you, good job McLean.” he scolded himself before turning his back to the box and moving to the door.

The moment he laid his hand on the handle a sheer noise erupted from behind him, like the dying wails of a beast put through so many filters it came out like garbled static. He whipped around and swung the crowbar, wracking the TV right on its side with a resounding thud. He stared at the TV and the TV stared back, a faint static hum in the air. Sweat rolled down Chris’ brow as he swallowed the lump in his throat - he could swear he saw eyes behind those pixels.

He then noticed the missing controller. He eyed the surrounding area before realizing that the controller was at his feet… this spirit was no longer asking but demanding. He stared into the vector graphics for a moment before finally nodding in agreement.

“Alright… alright… I'll play.”

He shakily picked up the controller before gently pushing the cart back about a foot so he could sit with his back against the door and still see the screen. He was below the TV screen but he had no idea how long he'd be kept here so he might as well get comfortable. He laid the crowbar across his lap and pressed the button on the controller, starting the game of Battlezone.

Chris immediately noticed that the environment was off. A scene of distant mountains and green squares and triangles as obstacles was no more. The background was all but gone and the obstacles now resembled infinitely tall rectangles. Immediately the hair on the back of his neck rose but he nonetheless familiarized himself with the controls.

Not only had it been several decades since he last played but he was used to the arcade cabinet and not the atari version. The arcade cabinet had two joysticks that controlled the two treads of the tank the player drove, using the position of the two joysticks to determine how the tank moved. All that was now condensed into one joystick.

You'd think that would make it easier but all the skill he built up all those years ago was severely hampered. He turned his attention to the top left to see where the enemy tank would be.

[Enemy is to th rigleft]

[Enemy in rangeft]

[Enemy is to the lefange]

[Enemy ]

That was very helpful. His eyes went back to the battleground. He began to scan the area to his left, deciding that maybe the word left showing up in most of the messages might’ve meant something. The background scrolled as he turned, revealing more of the nothing and nonsensical line placements. He also saw more infinitely tall rectangles… but no enemy tank. He also didn't hear any missiles coming. So he continued spinning.

The radar feed in the top left continued to spit out nonsensical garbage as he turned. As he spun around to the right he could finally see some geometry that made sense - a large mountain off in the distance, much like the one on Wawanakwa. He'd now scanned the entire area and still didn't see the enemy tank and his nerves were at a fever pitch. He took a moment to look at his surroundings to see if perhaps all of this was a distraction.

Then he heard the sound of something firing in the game. He jolted and began reversing and his eyes snapped back to the screen, hoping he was being shot from the side. He witnessed the bullet whiz, by the front of his tank. He sucked in some air and began to strafe to the left - where the bullet came from. More bullets flew past the front of his tank. As he continued to strafe he began to dread more and more what the enemy tank might look like, unable to tell if horrifying vector graphics would look better than… whatever else might show up here.

It was a slow process but he eventually moved backwards enough to see the enemy at the left side of his screen. It was a lot tamer than he was expecting as it was just a corrupted tank model. That being said, considering how simple the graphics are this felt like an abomination from hell.

Nonetheless he was still in a terrible position. Like first person shooters after it, in Battlezone you can only fire from the center of the screen. The enemy was to the left. Not good.

Thankfully, he hadn't fired once in this whole process and there's a firing delay, about half a second. It'd be tight but he might be able to turn the tank after the enemy fired and hit it before it can shoot him. It's far more likely he'd die but it was worth a shot. He then backed into an obstacle and died. He blinked. He forgot that could happen.

Once he respawned he turned to the right and saw the corrupted enemy model. He made sure there were no obstacles in the way before lining up the shot and fired. However, the enemy moved out of the way. He hummed and moved forward to make chase. Now that he was in the prime position he was able to close the distance and destroy the enemy, causing the enemy “tank” to explode into corrupted vector chunks.

With his death and the death of the enemy tank leading to no horror brought him some comfort. A small part of him considered that maybe this spirit just really wanted to play some Battlezone. So, the back and forth continued. Playing against an intelligent being was certainly very different from playing against ai. There was even a moment of peace where the two of them “danced” by driving forward and reversing rapidly before continuing the battle. It was… nice.

After constant torment this moment of peace and, honestly, fun was refreshing. He'd almost forgotten the danger he was in, the nostalgia and newfound comfort in the game lulling Chris’ anxieties.

Honestly, after a while, he was convinced that this spirit - who he figured was probably Harold - just wanted someone to play with. It was so strangely wholesome… though, he should probably leave soon. He'd lost track of the time and still had to find out how to get back to his crew.

But he just couldn't pull himself away from the game, enthralled by the activity, he and Harold now trying to see if they can shoot each other's projectiles.

Shoot

Shoot

The image of one of the hunting rifles popped into his mind, almost as if he was looking at it at that moment. He blinked, a fuzzy feeling filling his mind, causing him to lift his thumb off of the controller and stop all movement in game. He groaned and rubbed his eyes… his hands felt full… like a weight was in them. He looked down at the controller then past the TV to the dark environment around him. It suddenly didn't feel real.

He rubbed his eyes again and shook his head, fully dropping the atari controller. What the hell was going on? He felt detached from himself and from the things around him, like he was floating in a void. He looked back to the screen only to be met with the barrel of the enemy tank, his eyes half lidded and confused. He waited for the tank to shoot.

Shoot

Shoot

Chris blinked into awareness, his body once again feeling like his own. He was standing in front of the workbench, staring at the ceiling. He furrowed his brow and looked around to catch his bearings. Everything was as he left it - tarp on the window, tools displaced from his rummaging, haunted TV in front of the door to the outside… but one of the hunting rifles was missing. He looked down at his hands, quickly dropping what was held within them.

Well, he found the rifle. He was holding it to himself, clearly with harmful intentions. Chris just stood there for a moment to catch his breath. How close was he to death just now? Was Harold just toying with him?

After a moment he steeled his gaze with a huff before turning to leave. He grabbed the cart with the TV and thrust it aside, just barely throwing the TV to the ground. Turns out he'd lost at some point while he was hallucinating. Chris waved his hand dismissively towards the box and picked up the crowbar before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

As he left he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. He was saving who was left. The police were here combing the island for the killer. This anger was justified - maybe - but his conscience would be clear. These spirits would NOT kill him.

They would NOT be the end of him.

He refused to die on this island.

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

True Form Sukuna/Reader: A Moment in Time (Part 3- The Executioner)

Author’s Note: Hey guys. Part 3 of A Momen in Time. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed! Enjoy!

Warnings: nsft (implied/referenced), swearing, sexism, kidnapping, Sukuna being himself, implied death, blood and injury, MINORS DNI

The night before your execution was spent fending off rats who scurried around you in the darkness. 

The basement was frigid and you found your thin cotton robe did little to keep you warm. 

So this is what your life would be? 

Short with a tragic ending. 

After all the years of service you had given to this palace, the highbrow nobles who cast you to the devil to save their own skin. 

You wouldn’t go down begging for salvation from the likes of them. You’d die with honor, the genuine kind their wealth could never procure. 

~

When Uraume arrived at their master's chambers, they discovered two naked women sleeping in Sukuna’s bed. 

Sukuna himself was already awake, gazing at the nude figures he had ravaged the previous night. 

“Tell me Uraume, which of these women is more attractive?”

“Whichever one you deem to be sir.”

“Don’t play coy,  I’ll break your arm if you do.”

Uraume didn’t bother mentioning that such an act would inhibit their ability to cook. 

“I suppose from a visual standpoint, my lord, the woman with the larger bust.”

“And yet her performance last night was subpar,” he mumbled.

“My lord, the execution,” Uraume reminded him.

Sukuna grunted in agreement. “Fine then take her to the kitchen, she shall be the one I feast on, and send the other one on her way home, I might call upon her again.”

“Right away my lord.”

~

“Get up,” one of the guards barked. 

Interesting choice of words considering you had never gone to sleep, you just sat up and let your resentment build. 

The guard walked down the stairs of the basement and roughly lifted you up by the arm, you didn’t miss how his eyes lingered down the front of your disheveled robe, predatorily stopping on your breasts. 

“You know, the lord of the house would most likely reconsider your fate if you were to offer him your companionship in his chambers.”

You just glared at him. “I’d rather be killed a million times over by Sukuna than fuck that pig.”

The guard just sneered. “Well look who death has emboldened? Let’s go, your majesty, your public awaits.”

~

The guards dragged you up the stairs and slammed you down on the stage where you were to be killed, hastily tying your arms behind you and taking their leave. 

The courtyard had filled with spectators, all morbidly curious to witness a fatal blow from the likes of Sukuna first hand. 

The nobleman who had decided your fate made his way up the stairs and addressed the public. 

“Citizens of the capitol, let us witness the pure cruelty that necessitates our way of life in a world of cursed creatures.”

~

When Sukuna arrived at the palace courtyard he was greeted by the same group of kowtowing buffoons as before. He impatiently brushed past them and made his way to the stage to meet his victim.

“Lower your heads for Ryomen Sukuna,” the nobleman ordered. 

With the heads of the subject lowered Sukuna was able to have a clear view of the stage, and the person who sat atop of it was none other than you.

The maid.

Uraume quizzically looked at their master who temporarily had paused his actions.

“My lord?” they inquired. “What stops you?”

Instead of lunging his spear through you as he had intended he slowly made his way towards the stage.

~

You were already wracked with anxiety, what on earth was he doing? When you saw Sukuna again, this time brandishing a weapon that would certainly kill, he stared at you as he once had before. 

You almost wished he would just get it over with and put you out of your misery. 

Instead he just stalked towards the stage confusing the spectators and the nobleman beyond reason.

“Lord Sukuna,” the nobleman babbled. “Great and honorable lord Sukuna, we have done as you asked and brought you the person responsible for yesterday's incident.”

Sukuna ignored him, instead focusing his attention on you. 

Kneeling before him like this, even on a platform, you felt so miniscule. You could see up close how muscular his chest was, how massive his frame was. His own hand could crush your skull in the blink of an eye. 

“I saw you yesterday, tell me your name.”

You uncertainly looked up at the nobleman. You really hadn’t expected this. 

“Tell him,” he squealed out.

You gathered all your courage and faced Sukuna, opting to not break eye contact no matter how much you feared him.

“I am (Name), Lord Sukuna.”

“And how exactly were you responsible (Name)?”

“I allowed Yorozu, the woman you killed, to approach you my lord.”

He sneered, making your skin crawl.

“You’re lying,” he taunted. 

“I…I can assure you I’m telling the truth my lord.”

Sukuna chuckled.

“Humans and your loyalties. I can sense your accelerated pulse. You are not the one who was charged with that woman’s care. Or perhaps you and another person were and you have taken the fall for the both of you?”

Damn him. This was nothing but entertainment to the likes of him.

Your gaze wandered towards the servant boy. A determined look in his eye.

Don’t, you silently pleaded. Don’t confess.

The nobleman grabbed the collar of your robe and pulled you towards him. “You lowly bitch! You dare make a fool of me?”

He froze up as the crowd gasped. You collapsed back down to the ground to find a pool of blood and a severed arm, his severed arm. 

You shrieked and shimmied back as best as you could with your restraints.

Sukuna flicked the blood off of his hand as the nobleman began to cry in agony. 

“Do not touch my possession,” he warned. 

You gasped when he effortlessly picked you up with a single hand and slung you over his shoulder. 

“I’ve decided on new conditions to this atonement, this maid now belongs to me.”

You wanted to scream again, but you couldn’t. You were stunned beyond belief.

No, not this. You would have preferred to die here and now than to be horrifically eaten or mutilated. 

Panic filled the courtyard as Sukuna briskly walked out the way he came in. 

“(Name)!” the servant boy cried.

“Get a doctor! The lord of the house is bleeding out!”

“Damn you Sukuna!” he cursed. “You’ll pay for this!”

Sukuna turned around much to the crowd's horror. “Careful,” he warned. “I can just as easily take off the other one.”

~

No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Your mind raced at a million miles a minute. The white haired attendant who had stood beside Sukuna yesterday raced after their master in a frenzy. 

“Lord Sukuna, with the array of choices I have at the temple it seems unnecessary to tamper your appetite with the likes of that thing.”

Thing?

As offended as you were to be referred to as some inferior product, you found yourself reeling at the implications of that statement. 

Your joints started to regain some type of feeling, so you unwisely pounded your fists against Sukuna’s back. 

He laughed at your foolish actions. “A spirited vixen. Something that can easily be dealt with.”

“Put me down,” you growled.

“As you wish.”

He stopped in front of the carriage and tossed you inside with little effort. 

You grunted when you hit the floor with a thump.

“How dare you give Lord Sukuna orders, you ugly little peasant,” Uraume scolded. 

“Better a peasant than a bootlicker,” you shot back.

Uraume was about to unleash their technique when their master stopped them. 

“Enough!” he roared.

The two of you went silent.

Sukuna climbed in and sat beside you.

“Walk alongside the carriage Uraume.”

The order caused the attendant to shoot a murderous look in your direction. Already you burdened them with your pitiful presence and now you have taken their place.

You would have gladly swapped with them, but the way Sukuna blocked you from the exit made it clear you weren’t going anywhere.

~

The End. 

[sickoherd]

DARYL DIXON — fit in.

angst/fluff

summary: daryl doesnt fit in alexandria, and he knows it.

author note: i really dont know what this is but idk enjoy some daryl content ig

warnings !! swearing

once again, daryl skipped another opportunity to meet any people of Alexandria. he was disappointed in himself, thinking you’d be mad at him when you’d return to the new suburban home your group had been given. he thought you’d be disappointed too, and the thoughts of it all was swallowing him up inside.

he hated that he didn’t fit in, he hated that he couldn’t just go up to someone and start a conversation. although he wasn’t particularly keen to get to know the alexandrians, he wanted to try. for you.

but he just… couldn’t.

“daryl?” your voice was deadly sweet, and it took him a minute to find his own voice.

“uh… in ‘ere!” he shouted back, with a slight crack in his voice. the new heels you’d found stuffed in the back of the closet sounded loudly as you approached, making his heart race with every click.

you had dressed up for this event, he watched you do so. maggie had found you a beautiful blue dress with a hem a few inches above your knees. the dress hugged your curves, and daryl swore he was in heaven when he took that first glance at you.

at that moment he wanted to just wrap you in his arms and hide away with you, from alexandria, from the world.

“what happened? i thought you were coming to the party?” you looked at him with concern, and he couldnt bear that he probably let you down. he told you to go and he’d be there soon, as soon as he was done cleaning his crossbow. a lie.

“‘m sorry…” he looked down, shaking his bangs so they fell in front of his face and shielded his eyes from having to look at yours. he was embarrassed, and was closing in on himself.

you were standing in front of him, and he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his head only about the height of your bust.

gently combing his hair through with your fingers, you leant down and kissed his forehead before bringing him to rest on your chest. his arms soon found their way around your waist, holding on for dear life.

ever since arriving at alexandria, the two of you didn’t really have a chance to hold each other like this. daryl was trying to find an escape by being in the woods, and you were trying to convince the residents you weren’t hostile. at least, not completely.

he desperately wanted to escape with you, but he knew you couldn’t go with him.

“i’m not mad honey, i was worried about you.”

you raked your fingers through his hair, and continued holding him against your chest.

he let out a sigh of relief, completely forgetting you would hear it. daryl felt your chest vibrate as a soft laugh escaped you, and squeezed his arms around your waist even tighter in response.

“it’s okay daryl, we’re safe here.”

all daryl could ever think about was you. This happened often— you no longer crossed his mind but you were a permanent figure there. Although he certainly wasn’t complaining.

the time he spent with you he savoured, as he knew nothing is permanent in this world. but the love he has for you, is.

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

65+87 please?

this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a month lol, i hated it when i wrote it but i just stumbled upon it again and realized it was sad to leave it sitting unread even if its not my favorite - so i hope someone enjoys my slightly angsty take on the prompt

65 First Kiss/Date + 87 Unresolved Sexual Tension

If it were anyone else calling Mickey ‘patient’, he’d laugh in their face.

But Ian had brought out much more outlandish qualities in him over the last few months, so it's no surprise that when it comes to him Mickey could find nearly endless patience. 

Three months ago, standing in front of Ian with his lungs screaming from the cold air he listened to Ian tell him that yes, this was him breaking up with Mickey. 

Mickey looked at Ian for a second. Looked at his pale, shivering form and couldn't find any anger for him. He was fucking heartbroken, and had to turn and look down the street just to take his eyes away.

“Take your meds, Ian” he simply. “Break up with me, sure. I can’t make you love me, I don’t want to. But you have what it takes to get control of this thing, with the meds or therapy or whatever and you’re really, really going to regret it if you don’t just because you were too busy being a mopey asshole to try.”

 “Fuck you, Mickey. I’m doing this because I love you, I’m letting you go, you don’t fucking owe me anything.”

Mickey shook his head, indignation finally welling up in his chest. He pushed the gate open harshly and stomped up to stand toe to toe with Ian “you’re doing this for you, because you want it to hurt. You think you deserve it, and you think I deserve it too.”

Ian looked so tired, like he wanted to cry. So Mickey just huffed a sigh, bringing a hand up to his cheek, patting it once before turning to walk away. 

“I can’t do it with you watching” Ian said suddenly. “I can't make any promises but if I’m going to try to make it work with the meds and get myself back on track, I need to do it alone.”

Mickey looked back with a huff, he knows that Ian wasn’t trying to be mean, but he couldn’t help but feel like Ian was blaming him. And maybe Mickey was the problem, Fiona and Lip and even little fucking Debbie had told him enough times that Ian needed to be in the hospital. 

“But if I can get to a better place, can I come find you?” Ian asked hopefully.

It was like their moods had swapped in a matter of seconds, Mickey just drew his mouth into a tight line, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s not make any promises to each other,” was what he decided on before walking away, back the way he came to crawl back into the den of misplace objects that had taken over his home and get drunk.

The next morning Mickey called over some guys he knew from the moving business that went bust to buy all the suitcase shit and haul it away. He took all the baby stuff Svetlana left behind and shoved it in the attic, working away at a bottle of whiskey as he went. 

It was like doing an autopsy to see how fucked up his life had become over the last couple of years. Unearth a condom here, a little baby sock here, Mandy’s blonde hair dye-

Mandy, Mickey realized with a pang of horror. Mandy left and he’d hardly even noticed. He spent the rest of the afternoon calling (almost) everyone Mandy knew and narrowed down where she moved to. He woke up the next day before the sun was completely over the horizon and started driving South East. 

Kenyatta might not have seen it in the moment, but he got very lucky that all it took was a bullet in the leg to get Mandy into Mickey’s car. 

She got a job at a high end restaurant, as hostess and then quickly moving up to waitress. Mickey started small time dealing again, making just enough cash to cover his meager expenses. They didn’t really hang out for a while, both siblings holed up in their rooms, licking their wounds. 

Mandy left him alone until he came home with a busted up face after he missed off the wrong supplier with his big fucking mouth. She hounded him after that, about getting his GED with her, going to community college.

“What are you going to do when dad gets out?” she asked, following him to the kitchen.

“Hope that this stint of fucking guys for a few months liberalized his views on same sex relationships” Mickey snarked back.

“Mickey, come on.”

“Or claim there was a gas leak that made me crazy for dick” he continued sarcastically reaching into the fridge.  

“Look Mickey, you’re twenty years old, you have no record as an adult and you should be making an effort to keep it that way unless you want to end up in and out of prison like dad” Mandy said testily, snatching a beer out of his hand.

“What the fuck do you want me to do Mandy?”

“Jesus!” she exploded. “The only thing I’ve ever seen you give a shit about was your stupid fucking boyfriend. You’re worse than me!”

Mickey just stared her down with a brusque fuck you and started walking away. 

“He’s getting out in less than a year Mickey,” she warned. “I’m saving up to rent my own place until then, and I suggest you do the same.”

She was right, he knew that and he just wanted to be a pigheaded asshole for a little while longer so he started scrolling through craigslist ads for security until something caught his eye. 

He lied through the interview, surprisingly at ease as long as he was able to be pulling a con in some way, even if he was just lying about who he was. He was armed with the knowledge that he’d bribed Linda Karib into saying that he was a valued member of the security staff at her large, upscale market and that Mandy would pick up the phone and follow any lie he’d told them.

“You got a job where?” Mandy asked incredulously, picking up the two suits he’d been given as a uniform from where he’d tossed them on the couch after he was hired.

“The Art Institute” He said around a mouthful of cereal. “You know, the big building on Michigan Ave with the Lions out front.”

“Why the hell did you want to work there?” Mandy asked incredulously. 

“It pays more than any other security gig I could get without a GED,” Mickey said. “And it’s like really cool, I’ll be guarding fucking Van Gogh and Michelangelo.”

“Yeah, guarding them from fifth grade class trips,” Mandy teased. “There’s a Michelangelo in Chicago?”

Mickey scowled and sucked his teeth, “you know what I mean.”

Against all odds, Mickey loved his job. He was vigilant enough to keep kids and entitled adults from touching anything they weren’t supposed to, but mostly spent his time rotating with the shift changes, getting exposed to something new and beautiful. Ancient Korean pottery, massive modern canvases, baroque paintings applied to wooden triptychs, and he had a front row seat to all of it.

He had nothing but time to think, he’d start his shift hating the painting across from him, and after a few hours he’d come to understand it, if not like it. 

It kept his mind off of Ian, which was important. He’d be reminded of his ex-boyfriend in a particularly golden shade of red, or the odd bright splash of green, but after a while he’d learned to let those thoughts come and then quietly escort them out without any anger or resentment. 

In short, four months after Ian broke up with him, Mickey was relatively happy and fulfilled. He had a good relationship with his family (the only member that mattered anyways), a job he liked (well, didn’t totally despise), and modern technology took care of everything else (grindr).

He was getting ready to meet up with a guy from the app when a wrench got thrown into the whole machine. He had showered and gelled his hair, putting on a clean shirt that showed off his arms, he was grabbing his wallet from the kitchen table when he noticed the shock of red hair contrasting with the grey of his living room. 

Ian turned around once he’d realized Mickey had come out of his room. Mandy must have let him in, seating him on the couch and leaving him like a sadistic little gift for Mickey to find, the fucking bitch. 

Mickey froze, hand outstretched as Ian turned to face him, scrambling up off the couch. 

“Hi Mickey,” Ian said breathily, attempting a grin. He looked good, healthy and normal. He looked like the Ian that left Mickey in his room to run off to the army, just a little older. 

“Uh” Mickey said, unhelpfully. “What are you doing here?”

Ian surveyed him up and down hesitantly. “Your sister let me in,” he said lamely.

Mickey raised his brows to say not the question I asked, fuckhead.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” Ian asked nervously. 

“I’m not really hungry” Mickey said stupidly, not understanding why Ian was standing in his living room.

Ian deflated slightly “we could get a drink, or just go for a walk or something.”

“What are you getting at, Gallagher?” Mickey asked tiredly.

“I’m trying to ask you on a date” Ian said with a halfhearted smile. “I’ve been on my meds consistently for three months now so I thought-”

“Congrats, Ian that’s really great” Mickey said, bittersweet. “But if you got your shit together because I was gone, I should probably stay away.”

“No!” Ian blurted out. “No, I got better so I could see you again. I wasn’t going to put you through anymore than I already had.”

Mickey didn’t say anything to that, so Ian continued. “I know that I hurt you when I said that I needed to do this alone. But I’ve been working for the past few months to try and become someone I was proud of, so I wouldn’t feel so fucking sick every time you looked at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Mickey tried to calm down. He wanted to yell, he wanted to hug Ian, he wanted to leave and never see him again. But most of all he saw that he was being given the chance to start over, and he wanted to take it. 

“Fuck it, yeah, let's go to dinner” he agreed. 

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Ian asked curiously, grinning wildly. 

“I can always eat,” Mickey said, finally sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “Can we get pancakes?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. Let’s go get some flapjacks” Ian agreed excitedly. “Wait-were you going somewhere?”

“Nah” Mickey dismissed. “Faceless Jonny can murder some other twink tonight.”

Ian laughed. It didn’t have that hyper, nasty quality Mickey had grown to flinch away from. 

It seemed like they agreed to set any uneasiness aside for the night so they could sit together and share a stack of pancakes. 

He told Ian all about the rescue mission to Indiana, the way Kenyatta charged at him in the living room before he could get his gun out and had to hold his own against the absolute mountain of a man before he managed to get his gun out. He told him about the spring he’d mostly shared with his sister, about the museum.  

“You do what?” Ian said, letting out a stalling laugh, nearly choking around a mouthful of bacon. 

“Stop laughing, it’s fun and I make good money” Mickey grumbled. “We can’t all be training to save lives.”

“Do you wear the little suit?” Ian asked, ignoring him. 

“Do you?” Mickey shot back. 

“Not yet but I will,” Ian said proudly. 

Ian didn’t share very much about what he’d been doing. Mickey managed to figure out that he was working working at Patsy’s for a while, before he started EMT training, he talked a lot about his family, Debbie getting pregnant and Carl going to juvie, but he had this was of talking around himself that made Mickey realize he probably spent a lot of the last few months pretty miserable. 

“So, I mean-this is our first date, right?” Ian asked with a grin, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Yeah, I guess so” Mickey said hesitantly.

“So, tell me stuff I don’t know” Ian said like it was obvious. “You know, siblings, childhood, likes and dislikes.”

Mickey snickered sarcastically leaning back with his arms crossed “number of siblings unknown, childhood was horrific. Likes; guns, redheads, tattoos, dutch renaissance painting, italian futurist sculpture, Bon Jovi, high fructose corn syrup. Dislikes; boston accents, bostson sports teams, men who can’t fight, vegetables that aren’t fried, and any pop song on the top 100.”

Ian grinned wildly, giddy and joyful “That is a very comprehensive run down, A+.”

Mickey chuckled a little, leaning forward and letting out a quick thanks. He turned to Ian and motioned for him to start talking.

“Five siblings. Mixed childhood, mostly good. Likes summer, professional hockey, pop music, thin highlighters, bad boys-hey, don’t kick me!-call of duty, and these days green tea. Dislikes Romantic comedies, football, mood stabilizers, menthol cigarettes, and hoodies without zippers.”

Mickey grinned at his stupid list, and his stupid smiling face. He felt himself getting sucked back into Ian’s magnetic orbit. 

“Would you let me take you out again?” Ian asked eagerly. “This was a pretty good first date.”

Reality came crashing down on Mickey again, and he remembered that this wasn’t really their first date, that nothing was normal between them “are you sure you’re ready for-whatever if is you’re trying to get out of this?”

Ian’s face fell, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I’ve spent the last few months trying to get to this point so I could come back to you.”

Mickey leaned forward to make eye contact with him, trying to decide wether or not to trust him. His eyes were wide and anxious but steady. Taking a deep breath and praying that it wasn’t a mistake. 

“Yeah, okay. I believe you,” Mickey agreed. “But I’m not doing this again, if we break up again it’s fucking over, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life running around in circles with you.”

Ian nodded enthusiastically “yeah, no, that makes sense. I don't want to do that either.”

He paid the check and they left together, when they got back to Mickey’s house he nodded up at it with a grin, “come in, Mandy won’t be back until later.”

Hesitating slightly, Ian took a deep breath and paused. “So, I’m totally ready to start dating you, totally ready. And I’ll come up to watch a movie or play video games or just hang out, but I don’t to have sex tonight, or for a little while.”

Looking down at his crotch automatically, Mickey pulled a questioning face. 

“It works,” Ian supplied with a blush. “It’s back up and running and everything. I just-once I could finally think clearly, I started getting this really uncomfortable feeling like my body isn’t mine, because I didn’t make choices I’m proud of, all the time. I’m still kind of struggling with that so if we can just go out and not fuck for a while that would be great for me, but-”

“Ian chill out. That’s fine, we can hang out.” Mickey said urgently. “You’ll want to eventually though, right? ‘Cause if this is a never again thing we'll need to figure-”

“No! No, definitely not never again, just like give me a couple weeks” Ian amended.

“Yeah, that’s fine. However long you need” Mickey agreed, walking up the stairs, “come on, I’m gonna’ kick your ass at the new grand theft auto just as bad as all the others.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian groaned and flopped down on Mandy’s purple comforter.

“What’s got you all moody?” Mandy asked, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. 

“Your fucking brother won’t get naked for me” Ian whined.

“Ew! Jesus Ian” Mandy shrieked. “Just apologize for whatever he’s pissed about.”

“He’s not pissed,” Ian insisted. “Why would he be pissed?”

“I don’t know, why else would he be holding out on you?”

“On first date after we broke up, I mean-I guess that was our first date period, I told him I wanted to take it slow, at least with sex. After everything I’d done before getting diagnosed I just-didn’t want to jump into a physical relationship right away” Ian explained. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Mandy agreed. 

“Yeah but that was almost three months ago and I have been very ready for a while and making it very fucking clear, but every time he shuts me down.”

“Shuts you down how?” She asked noncommittally, carefully painting her big toe. 

“The other night we were making out on the couch so I was trying to take his shirt off and he just pulled it down and looked at me like I was trying to fucking deflower him.”

Mandy let out a laugh, moving on to her other foot “have you tried telling him point blank that you wanna’ bang?”

“Kind of, not in so many words but I’ve tried to imply, in a seductive way, that I am really, really beyond ready and that by balls are starting to hurt.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” Mandy dismissed. “Just tell him what you’re telling me, which is what you should have done a week ago.”

“Yeah, I should have just told him. But now it’s like, weird. Like it’s weird that he’s purposely ignoring the like, big neon sign stuck to my forehead that basically screams I’m horny.”

“Maybe he’s not ready,” she said disinterestedly.

“He was three months ago,” Ian said, eye brows drawn. “So you think I’ve like, turned him off?”

“I have no idea, Ian!” She exclaimed. “I’ve already talked about my brother’s sex life way more than I wanted to this afternoon, it’s weird that you guys sleep in the same bed every other night but don’t have sex. And if you’re not the one with the problem, maybe he is.”

Ian laid back, deep in thought until Mandy kicked him out so she could get ready to work. Mickey got back an hour later, dressed in his dark suit. It didn’t fit him perfectly, but it made the darkness of his hair and eyelashes stand out even more. 

He said hi to Ian quickly before disappearing into his bedroom, unaware of Ian perking up and following him. “Mickey?” He asked curiously through the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hold on,” came a muffled reply.

“Can I just come in?” Ian asked impatiently. 

He waited a beat, then Mickey came out fully dressed in jeans and a teeshirt “jesus, where’s  the fire?”

“Why won’t you have sex with me?” Ian blurted out. “I mean, we both want to, unless I’m reading the signs wrong but the sexual tension feels pretty fuckin’ intense.”

Mickey licked his lips and looked away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Ian asked incredulously. “So you’re going to pretend that I haven't been basically practically jumping you every night for the last few weeks?”

“Whatever, you’re the one who didn’t want to have sex” Mickey shot back defensively. “You haven't said anything else since and I know I can be-y'know a little pushy, so I backed the fuck off.”

Ian moved forward quickly, moving to bring both hands up to Mickey’s cheeks and pulling him close before allowing his hands to travel downward slowly until he could tuck his hands comfortably into the back pockets of his jeans. “I get that it’s been weird not having sex, and I really appreciate you being so considerate, but if it’s alright with you I’d like to to back into your bedroom and suck your dick to say thank you for your extraordinary patience.”

From this close, Ian got to actually feel the affect this words had on his boyfriend and watch as his cheeks flushed and pupils dilated sightly. “Yeah,” Mickey nodded, nonchalant like his voice didn’t pitch up a couple octaves. “Yeah, I mean you can do that, if you want.”

Smiling, Ian ran a hand up his back so that he could lead Mickey back through the doorway by the back of his head, rubbing and rocking it lightly, stomach flipping in excitement.  

Believe me - I will be revisiting museum security guard mickey again, taking down heists, helping lost kids, and knowing where all the major pieces are so when wimpy little art students like me come in looking for specific pieces he can give directions -the possibilities are endless.

link to AO3

[redhoodedangel]

Arkham! Jason Todd Relationship Headcanons

I’m feeling soft, so here’s some wholesome Arkham Knight Jason Todd headcanons. Most of these are my own personal ones, but please be respectful if you disagree with any of them.

Warning ⚠️: Mentions of torture, PTSD, trust issues, Jason learning to open up, Reader losing her composure for a moment

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

As we all know, Arkham Knight! Jason has a lot of trust and abandonment issues and has very few people he can trust

You’re one of the few people he trusts for quite a collection of reasons, that I will elaborate on later

You met either one of two ways: When he’s the Arkham Knight or when he’s the Red Hood

As Arkham Knight, you were a citizen left behind in the evacuation and the Knight and his men manage to find you

He kept you safe until the night is over and he returns you to your home

Meeting him when he’s Red Hood, you were jumped by thugs and he happened to be passing by.

He escorts you back home and makes sure that no one bothers you

However, getting into a romantic relationship with someone is a challenge for him and may take some time

He hasn’t had any prior romantic relationships or experience, even from when he was a teen, or at least, none that we know of

Not even a known crush or showing any interest in dating

Probably because his only prior example was his parents and that was not a very healthy example of a partnership

Not to mention, the torture and pain he endured as Joker’s captive instilled some insecurity and paranoia in himself

In his mind, he probably thinks that he’ll drag his partner down with his baggage and trauma (which couldn’t be further from the truth, like we can suffer together, babe!)

That no woman would want a man who spent most of his life, fighting for his life and the lives of others, only to be ripped away and be turned into another man’s personal fail safe for killing his worst enemy (again, couldn’t be further from the truth…)

However, he was in for a surprise when you came bursting into his personal bubble

He was not ready for all the affection, affirmation and reassurance you gave

Like the first time he had a nightmare about Joker when he started dating you, he couldn’t stop going off about how he was broken and a monster, a messed-up jigsaw puzzle of himself, Batman and Joker

To which you responded with:

“No. You are you. You’re not Joker’s pawn. You’re not Batman’s ward. You are Jason Todd… The fucking Red Hood… The last thing criminals see before meeting their maker. So, what if you’re messed up, both inside and out? Nobody is perfect and no one should have to live up to that ridiculously high standard, anyway! You’re not broken! You’re a beautiful mosaic and I love you!”

He couldn’t even hold back his tears, that’s how how relieved and happy he felt after so long in misery

He learned to trust you more after that day and let you know if he was ever in a horrible state of being or mind

~Now to the meat of this course~

This man is an absolute fucking teddy bear

Like, his job is being a gun-slinging, crime-busting vigilante with a big disdain towards thugs and high-profile villains

But, at home, he’s a sucker for the little things

Cannot go to sleep properly without listening to your heartbeat

He hasn’t had any intimate connection or contact with another human being in forever, so this is just one of his many methods for getting affection

Loves when you fall asleep on top of him

The fact that you have so much trust in him to fall asleep next to him makes him feel alive

Will go wherever you go, both to protect you and spend time with you

Whether it’s the grocery store, the gym or you’re just in the drive-by, getting fast food for dinner, he’s there with you

Kiss his fucking scars… He was so overwhelmed with emotion…

Kiss his ‘J’ marking and he is not letting you go for a long time…. And by that, I mean ‘cuddles for days’

Rubs your thigh as a form of comfort or to help calm himself down

Like if he’s starting to feel distressed, feels a panic attack coming on or if he’s driving, he places his hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb against your skin

Cooking together is a big part of your nightly routine

Especially if it’s trying out new recipes or just making some comfort foods

Helping out at shelters and orphanages

Watching Jason interact with the kids is the most precious thing in the world

Movie or TV dates every Friday or Saturday

Reading books together or suggesting books for one another to read

Crashing at each other’s places after work

Treating his wounds after nightly patrols and missions

If you’re a vigilante like him, then you both will be treating each other’s wounds

Basic premise: Jay is rough around the edges but you love him for it and being him and he loves you for being you

[yeahspider]

THE INTRO

Ve’s note - the first installment in the sdp interlude series featuring yang jeongin !! mentions of alcohol and weed . nsfw mdni . barely proofread (this is my first time writing in chapter form so bare with me bees ) ik this is a lil short but it’s just the prologue !! enjoy !!

as usual you regret coming to this party . some random hookup of yours invited you to his dorm for "the party of the year" or whatever he quoted it as . you knew he just wanted another night with you . but you weren't one to hit a block twice . a firm believer in been there done that . not even the shots of tequila you've knocked back could make you want to mess with him again .

you’ve already scoured the party looking for your next one nighter, but no one here was quite up to your taste. so for the time being you were stcuk with loverboy trying his best to seduce you. unless you went home but that would be boring. its Friday night and ut would be against your nature to spend it at home. plus you had a reputation to protect .

just when you think this night was gonna be a bust you see him . yang jeongin . the only other person on campus whose reputation could rival yours . not that either of you necessarily slept around a lot but its more of the reviews of your nights spent with people that made its way around campus . two years together on the same campus and you've yet to approach him . its not like your paths didn't cross, they frequently did with him majoring in music and you in film. but something in you always held you back . but tonight you were determined to change that .

jeongin hated parties . okay he didnt actually hate them it's just he hated running into old lovers, the campus only being so big . but he really needed someone tonight . it had been a while since his last tally was added to his body count . he desperately needed release . he could've easily hit up one of his one-nighters but the thought annoyed him . seeing someone twice was against his .... nature . he didn't have it in him to be consistent . entering the part of the house where the kitchen was he ran into a familiar face . you ..... and some guy you didn't seem all too thrilled to be talking to . in fact, you looked like you wanted to be anywhere but beside him . jeongin watched as the guy, whose name he could not remember for the life of him, bent down and whispered something in your ear which caused you to roll your eyes . he let out a laugh at that . a little louder than what he meant from the looks of it, considering you looked up and caught eyes with him . you raised a brow at him, wanting to know what was so funny . he just saluted in your direction and walked to another room in the house . he was never one to cockblock plus he had a blunt or two to smoke and it would be a shame if they went to waste .

you couldn't believe he laughed at you . or you guess more at the situation he found you in . you couldn't blame him much though because the fox-like smirk that crossed his face as he nodded in your direction stirred something in you . an itch begging to be scratched.

not wanting to waste another moment on the loser to your left you excused yourself to the bathroom with promise to return . you were lying of course . considering you had spent night here you knew your way around fairly well so you headed to the living room where you saw jeongin step into . you had found your mark for tonight .